


Waiting for the end (holding on to what I haven't got)

by SunOfMidnight



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Annoyed Arthur, Eames is a pain, Eames wants to be appreciated, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Swearing, a bit - Freeform, but not excessive or anything, semi-public blowjobs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-14
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-04-26 10:42:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 89,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5001637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunOfMidnight/pseuds/SunOfMidnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>University-AU in which Arthur and Eames attend the same art class and spend too much time thinking of ways to piss each other off.<br/>Arthur is a bit self-centered, Eames has a past and both of them are stubborn as hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The kids aren't alright

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my first language, so I'm sorry for mistakes :/ reading through I haven't found anything that sounded wrong or weird to me but do point out mistakes when you find them, it really helps!  
> This story got stuck in my head so I started writing it and now I hope you like the first chapter. If anyone likes to beta, you're very welcome to contact me!
> 
> Title from Linkin Park's "Waiting for the end"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like it, comments are always appreciated so I know if my english is good enough to continue this ^^
> 
> Chapter title: The kids aren't alright - Fall Out Boy

\- **Eames** -

 

Eames was annoyed beyond measure.  
Something was amiss today, maybe it was this shit the people around here dared to call ‘tea’, maybe it was his car being moody (again), or just the presence of every pretentious idiot that seemed to be determined to get as close to Eames as possible; it was just a plain horrible day and he was so not in the mood to deal with this shit right now. Probably he should just go home, it was not like any of the professors gave a fuck on whether or not he was present during their lectures or not. Some of them might even actually thank him for his absence; he knew he could get quite exhausting when he was bored. Or, you know, annoyed as fuck. Or, like, whenever he felt like it.  
It felt unfair, everyone else having a normal day whilst Eames’ mood was this dark – he definitely should share, to keep all this selfishly to himself didn’t seem right, after all. Besides, his mother had always told him to share and maybe he felt particularly generous today, being in the mood to spread his annoyance to all those poor buggers and all.

So he flirted excessively until everybody retreated either flustered by his bluntness or disgusted by … well, just disgusted. Either way Eames got what he wanted: those fuckers backing off so he got his own space now all around him, plus the bonus of annoyance radiating off of pretty much each and every person who’d come across his path today. Very satisfying, Eames’ mood lifted immediately a fraction or two.

All these hipsters, thinking they were made for studying drama and art, didn’t deserve to live their ignorance undisturbed anyway. All Eames did was reminding them to get their heads out of their arses, really, his intentions were good, you could almost say angelic, being a helping hand and all. Not that it did much to be honest. Any attempt on getting them to acknowledge the reality that they would _never_ be ‘the next big Hollywood star’ had failed so far, but it certainly didn’t stop Eames from cheerfully carry on trying.

He liked Drama, putting on other people’s personalities, their way to hold themselves, talk, gesture and mimic, always managed to relieve Eames in one way or another. It wasn’t so much as putting on a new skin for him, as it was like stripping down his own personality, _free_ himself for a span of time from being who he was, and take up the worries, sorrows and life of someone else.  
He never aimed or even dreamt he could be said ‘next big Hollywood star’, he wasn’t under any illusion and quite frankly pretty sure he wouldn’t like all the shit that came with it, on the off case it would ever happen. He was quite content with the prospect of spending his life in some theatre or other, possibly a quite small and unimportant one – not like the others, always talking bullshit of how they would manage to land a role in someone famous director’s new movie and have their breakthrough immediately after college. Yeah right, they were so full of shit.

Sometimes Eames wondered if that was an American thing maybe, being full of shit. But then he remembered England before he went to college on the other side of the big pond, yeah it’s not like they’re any better. Different kind of shit they were full of, but still full of shit.  
To be fair, there were some blokes Eames could almost be friends with over here. At home he hadn’t had a real friend either, so it wasn’t that much of a difference, having none over here as well. Eames felt like maybe he just wasn’t good with friends, real friends, whom he could trust. He didn’t trust anybody and frankly that was exactly the way he liked it. He wasn’t a particularly pessimistic person, quite the contrary actually, he was mostly fucking sunshine and didn’t have a care in the world until it became absolutely inevitable to stop and _think_ for once. But he had never been stupid, always taken into account which of the different possibilities of an outcome would be the best – he’d never dwelled on any outcome that was less than likely. So while he appreciated creativity and a certain amount of imagination, downright stupid _daydreaming_ just made him want to punch something. Or someone.

When he was strolling down to his last lecture for the day (art) he considered paying Yusuf a visit, the bloke was a chemistry student and he had the best weed-mixtures Eames had ever come across. After a shitty day like this he deserved something to look forward to, after all.

The room was next to empty when he entered it. Not many of the drama students were taking this lecture – mostly because of the inconvenient timing, it collided with most people’s dinner-time – but these few students seemed like a new record or something.  
Well, it wasn’t as if Eames had any (fake-) friends who would come to beg him for a copy of his notes afterwards, so he didn’t really care. One, because there was literally nobody who was near close enough to even consider asking Eames such a thing (maybe Yusuf would, but he was far more often present at his lectures than Eames was anyway and aside from that, they didn’t have one single lesson together, so that was that), and two, Eames didn’t take notes. At least not in this – well, actually, no he just didn’t.

The only people already present were some of the architecture-students, two guys, one girl. One of the guys, ‘Boring’, nodded with a nice enough smile in acknowledgement of Eames presence, the other gave no indication of even having noticed his arrival. The girl had some kind of crazy-ass name Eames could never remember, but she was sharp and much more creative than Eames would have ever expected from an _architecture-student_ , and to top it all off she could be extremely charming if she wanted to. ‘Boring’ was passable, pretty average in his art-work, nothing outstanding and sometimes pretty sloppy and inattentive but Eames could work with that. The third guy however, that was the worst stick-in-the-mud Eames had ever encountered. The bloke never so much as cracked a smile, in all of their first semester Eames had seen him twitch the corners of his mouth to the total amount of two times. He had such a stiff posture that Eames’d spent more time than he’d care to admit staring at his straight spine and waiting for it to slump (or snap) _just one teeny-tiny bit_. Never happened.  
And his art-work … gruelling. Eames had no idea why this guy had taken art in the first place, he had next to no imagination and pretty much everything he did was following the instructions of professor Cobb to the point and producing something so flat, boring and downright predictable that Eames could almost feel his world tuning a little bit more grey and tasteless just by looking at it.  
To make it all worse, he wore fucking _ties_ and honest to god _dress shirts_ like he was some sort of professional already. Sometimes he’d roll up the sleeves of these pristine white and flawlessly ironed things, looking a little more at ease, but the tie never left. Like, really? Why in the world would he wear dress shirts and ties to fucking _uni_? Eames was pretty sure the guy even wore shirt-and-tie when he was in his dorm, possible even slept in suit-pajamas or something equally nuts. This bloke’s mind just had to be a clusterfuck, there was no other possibility. 

Eames had imagined strangling him with those ties quite a few times.  
Eames had also imagined loosening that tie, pulling it over his head (ruffling the neatly gelled back hair in the process of course, until it was in complete disarray) and tying his slender, pale wrists behind his back to have him at his mercy, quite a few times.  
Maybe even more often than the strangling-fantasy. Maybe not.

The worst thing was though, that because of his stiff posture and all, Eames had been annoyed enough, that he had actually remembered the bloke’s name after barely two times of sitting across from him in lecture. Arthur. It matched his correct behaviour and overall-at-all-times neat appearance. Didn’t stop Eames from being infuriated by this display of order every time he saw him though, he couldn’t even help it, Eames had always had the instinct to disturb order and replace it with chaos the best he could manage. He’d just never come across someone who seemed to _personify_ goddamn order like Arthur did.

Now, with being annoyed the whole day already, Arthur had the effect of pestering (tempting) Eames even further and he wanted the guy to show some – _any_ – reaction on his blank, expressionless, coolly beautiful face _so bad_.  
He let his bag drop onto a nearby table and watched the girl jump a little at the loud noise, ‘Boring’ lifted his eyebrows and furrowed his brow and Arthur … Arthur’s dark, dark eyes flickered briefly in Eames’ direction, taking him in from his loose-fitting trousers to the baggy shirt he was wearing, maybe mildly irritated but that could be just wishful thinking. Eames had never felt so small, reduced by once glace this quickly before.  
It didn’t help to improve his mood much.

»So«, he said and took a few steps towards the three of them. He swung himself onto the table next to Arthur, folding his leg on the surface and basically poked his knee into Arthur’s chest in the process. He didn’t get a glare out of him but there was definitely irritation radiating off that stiff posture. »Never really got the chance to talk to you lovely people, have I?«

‘Boring’ furrowed his brow even further and the girl tilted her head to the side as if she was thinking about voicing something about Eames being rude. As if. He was English, he was always very careful to be polite – well, as polite as seemed to be in order in the particular situation. Politeness didn’t mean he meant it. Ever.  
»You had one and a half semester«, Arthur replied dryly, irritation now obvious in his voice, his eyes boring into Eames’ as if he was trying to shove him off the table with his look alone, even though his face stayed smooth and blank, not one muscle twitching. The feeling of victory already came rushing through Eames’ veins just because of this teeny-tiny reaction.  
His mouth felt dry and he could feel his fingers itch to ruffle through that dark hair, play with this infuriating tie, tug on those lips – anything, really, to coax some expression to appear on that kid’s face other than this stony one. »Oh, I’m rather shy as you might’ve noticed, darling«, he heard himself say and he would’ve wished to slap himself for his big mouth, had he not seen Arthur’s dark eyes widen a fraction at that pet name, and suddenly the wish for a slap turned into the wish for a pat on his own back. _Well done me_. »It took me a lot of time to finally work up the courage to speak to you.«

Arthur’s irritation only seemed to grow with every word from Eames’ mouth and he couldn’t help but feel rather smug, allowing a smirk to curl his lips.  
The girl snorted but her mouth curved up into something like helpless amusement, a feeling Eames had somehow always been able to elicit from people around him (save Arthur. Obviously). ‘Boring’ however had his brow still furrowed as if in deep thought and his drooping brown eyes wandered over Eames’ face as if in search for something.  
»Are you … do you know Yusuf?«, he asked suddenly and Eames could barely refrain his eyebrows from shooting up his forehead while he eyed ‘Boring’ critically. Yusuf was acquainted with people like this? Really?  
»Yes, I know him«, he replied easily, polite smile still on his lips. Arthur’s dark gaze felt like it was burning the side of his face off and Eames reflexively offered his hand to ‘Boring’, just to keep himself from fidgeting. »Eames.«

»Nash«, ‘Boring’ said and took Eames’ hand. »I’m a – in fact _we_ are architecture students. This is – «  
»Ariadne«, the girl interrupted and took Eames’ hand as soon as Nash’s limp, sweaty palm had let him go. Her hand was exceptionally tiny, matching the rest of her short, slender form, but she held onto Eames’ hand with a confidence he couldn’t help but admire.  
»Nice to meet you«, he said with another quirk of his lips and the girl with the most complicated name ever grinned.  
Arthur stayed still long enough for Eames to wonder, if he would just ignore all rules of politeness (and human interaction) and not introduce himself at all. Not that it was strictly necessary since Eames already knew his name, but Arthur didn’t know that of course.  
»Arthur«, he finally said coldly and offered his hand, Eames’ already lowered into his lap again. When he took the pale hand, slender but surprisingly strong fingers gripped him and his palm felt warm and dry and strong. Eames wondered if his skin smelled as cool, impassive and anonym like he spoke.  
»Pleasure«, he replied and couldn’t help it, his voice had gotten just that bit deeper, rougher, his accent standing out a little bit more like it wanted to give that one word some kind of deeper meaning. The way Arthur kept looking at him, though, had Eames doubting if this bloke even knew the concept of pleasure. In any given context really.

Prof Cobb entered the room in her usual effortlessly elegant attire and Eames slid off the table quietly, while she was very gentle and approachable with mostly any problem, she had a way of making him feel like he had fallen into a shredder or something equally sharp and dangerous whenever he got cocky. From the corner of his eye he thought he could see Arthur’s stiff shoulders relax a bit when he finally got out of the man’s personal space but again, that could be just wishful thinking.

Eames’ day got a lot better, when Prof Cobb handed out their results from last week’s project and he had gotten the top grade. Not because he gave a shit about being top of the class for anything, all this artsy stuff just came naturally to him, he didn’t even have to try, but because Arthurs face darkened significantly. That guy honestly seemed like someone actually, _really_ bothered when he delivered anything less than perfect.  
And Eames could’ve kissed Prof Cobb when she absentmindedly registered Arthur’s displeased face and proceeded to tell him, how Mr. Eames had done ‘exceedingly well’ and how he could maybe ask Eames to help him, _teach him_ a bit. »It’s good work, you just lack a bit of imagination to make your work not just ‘good’ but ‘great’.«

She chattered on about the importance of imagination in that fast, excruciatingly chipper way only French people could, but Eames couldn’t pay attention to any of it. He was far too busy examining Arthur’s scowl, delighted how finally _something_ seemed to bug that guy. He winked when Arthur’s eyes briefly passed him by and leaned back contently.  
Oh yes, he was going to pay Yusuf a visit today, maybe ask him about this Nash/’Boring’, definitely get him to share some of his perfect weed. Uni was _fun_.

 

\- **Arthur** -

 

How had Arthur never noticed just how annoying this Eames-character was?  
Since his freshman year they were attending the same art-lecture but Arthur normally sat somewhere near the front (not the front row when he could help it, because teachers in school had always had the habit of making him answer their questions when nobody else would just because they knew he could actually answer them, and there was no guarantee uni would be any different). Whereas Eames usually took some spot by the windows in the back, maintaining his oh so cool-indifferent _lone wolf_ demeanour perfectly.

There was something irritating about that guy, maybe it was his too-good looks, maybe it was his habit of annoying people constantly, maybe it was just something British, Arthur couldn’t tell.  
Eames was that guy, who’d always pick on Arthur in school, who was ‘the cool one’ every girl went for and every guy had some kind of man-crush on. He was that kind of alpha-male Arthur had always stayed clear off, because he just couldn’t take that confidence paired with such stupidity. He’d hoped those kind of guys wouldn’t be there in uni, too stupid to make it or at least not in Arthur’s lectures, but of course he’d been naïve about that.  
If anything those kind of bullies were fewer but all the more brutish and with an unsettling edge to them.

However, all of them as per usual had their pack, their friends who strived to be like them and their girlfriend(s) who admired them.  
Not Eames.  
He had no pack, every time Arthur had seen him he was alone, smoking somewhere with his headphones in, doodling in a sketchbook or maybe on his own arm, or even reading. Of course there were misty-eyed girls going on about his broad shoulders, his tattoos and how beautiful his mouth was, but Arthur had never actually seen the guy with any girl at all.

The way he behaved, sitting with mockingly wide spread thighs wherever he put his ass down, always some cleverly disguised insult on his tongue and a charming smile that only enhanced the arrogance radiating off of him, had made it unmistakably clear to Arthur what kind of guy Eames was. He just missed some pieces that normally would complete the picture.  
Thing was though, Arthur couldn’t stand missing pieces, he needed the whole picture, not knowing something nagged at his insides and made his fingers itch.

He’d made peace with his urge to find out more by telling himself how unusual it was that someone handsome like Eames wouldn’t have at least one girlfriend and a pack of friends who followed him like dogs and drooled at his feet. The only option that had sprung to Arthur’s mind was that Eames had to be some kind of criminal, he had to have something to hide if he kept everyone at such a distance, refusing to own the campus like he very well could. Eames’ whole behaviour didn’t really plead his case, having a criminal record seemed very well possible in Arthur’s mind.  
And that had been it, after obsessing over the guy for almost two weeks Arthur had quickly forgotten all about him and just registered his presence (and unnecessary commentary) whenever he was near, like he did to everyone else who wasn’t Nash, Ariadne or Robert.

But now Eames seemed to have found Arthur worth of acknowledging – and inevitably teasing him. The teasing would soon enough turn to mocking, ridiculing, pushing him to his boundaries until Arthur snapped, he was sure of that. He knew the whole process of it, had experienced it more than once, and he had gotten better and better at not-snapping until they finally lost interest in rubbing him the wrong way. But Eames … Eames seemed like that kind of person who didn’t stop, like one of those annoying, scary little dogs that never let go until their prey was dead. Eames would be persistent, Arthur was sure of that. Eames wouldn’t stop until he got the satisfaction of seeing Arthur lose control, wouldn’t stop until he got Arthur right where he wanted him. Regardless of not being the typical bully all around, Arthur had no illusions about how this would go.

But he had a plan. Admittedly, not a good one (yet) but at least a plan.  
He just wouldn’t let it. He was stronger than this, Eames would hopefully lose his interest soon enough and find someone better to poke and tease, Arthur would have to make sure of that.  
It wasn’t even like he was afraid of him, idiots like Eames existed everywhere and Arthur could handle it just fine. Having Eames put that much energy into annoying Arthur though, would be enormously inconvenient, because Arthur really just wanted to have a good time, study and research and learn. Eames annoying him would definitely hinder him from doing exactly that and Arthur just didn’t feel in the mood to put up with that.

None of his annoyance had anything to do with the guy being better than him of course, no Sir. Arthur was not as childish as that, though he had to admit how Prof Cobb’s suggestion of him _learning_ from Eames, having Eames –unreliable, arrogant, asshole _Eames_ – teach him, Arthur, something, anything really … that had send a hot course of anger through him and he had had to refrain from clenching his fists when he heard those words. He could do this on his own just fine, thank you very much. He didn’t need some smug wanker to teach him anything.  
Especially not Eames.  
The bastard had had the cheek to fucking _wink_ at Arthur when he Prof Cobb suggested this and Arthur had wanted to punch that smug grin from his face so, so bad.

» … hello? Arthur? Have you heard anything I said?«  
Ariadne waved a hand in front of his face and Arthur snapped out of his thoughts immediately. He threw her an apologetic look for not having paid attention and sighed. »Sorry, what were you saying?«  
»How about some pizza and a movie tonight, huh?«, she asked and he could see in the way her brown doe-eyes narrowed that she was going to question him about this. But not here, not now. Not with Nash listening in on their conversation. The only reason why Nash was even with them was because he borrowed notes from Ariadne and him so often that he could as well just not come to the lectures at all. Nash wasn’t really stupid but he was not very precise and sometimes pretty careless, his mission this semester so far had been following Arthur and Ariadne everywhere and being overall sleazy and trying too hard, showering them in disgustingly sugary compliments – only to get them to share notes whenever Nash was in need of them.

Arthur nodded and Ariadne smiled, her face lighting up sweetly and anyone not knowing her would think her to be the most adorable, helpless person on the planet, kind of like the human form of a puppy maybe. He knew better of course, Ariadne was fierce and stubborn and she knew exactly what to do to get what she wanted. Arthur was stubborn as well but he sometimes saw more reason than her, she was fiery where he was cool. Maybe that was why they matched up so well, while it was also the reason why they fought at least once every few months. They both had strong opinions and friction was inevitable, but it was nice having someone respond like that and having those heated discussions.  
There had been many a rumour about him and Ariadne being a couple and after a while they had stopped denying it, because it had just made the rumours strengthen and they didn’t have partners who could get upset about it anyway. However, Ariadne was one of the very few people who knew Arthur was gay and she always tried to encourage him to finally act on it. But so far next to no one had sparked his interest, the only man around campus sometimes catching his eye had been Prof Cobb, his art-professor’s husband. He had an angelic face that could be both stern and serious, as well as happy and carefree, baby-blue eyes sparkling and blond hair sometimes ruffled, sometimes slicked back. But that wasn’t even a real crush, he just acknowledged attractiveness. Prof Cobb was handsome, it was painfully obvious. Both of them of course but in Arthur’s case especially the male one.

Ariadne was many things but most of all she was trustworthy and fiercely loyal. Arthur had learned that about her in the first few weeks of freshman year and now, only a few months after, he sometimes wondered how he’d even gotten along in his life so far without her by his side. She somehow managed to make things better, less stressful, as if she had the ability to put things in perspective and remind Arthur how it really wasn’t the end of the world if he hadn’t finished each and every project at least two weeks beforehand and couldn’t hand in spotless, perfect work.  
Arthur had never seen himself as a drama queen, he was cool and could distance himself from mostly everything pretty easily, but since he’d met Ariadne he felt … a little more relaxed, almost content even. It was a strange feeling but one he decided he liked.

Nash stayed quiet, he knew he wasn’t invited to the movie night and Arthur was pretty sure he wouldn’t even want to attend, even if he was asked to. After all, pretending to like people who were useful to him couldn’t take up _all_ of his time and Arthur was sure Nash was relieved every day when he went back to his real friends – a bunch of douchebags from the Cobol-house.

From the corner of his eye he saw a flash of golden-blonde hair and automatically followed Prof Cobb with his eyes. He seemed to be in a conversation with Prof Saito, a man Arthur admired deeply even if he sometimes had difficulty understand the man’s heavy Japanese accent. Prof Saito taught something about economics, Arthur didn’t know what it was exactly but he had read some books about him and he seemed like an outstandingly brilliant mind. Not to mention Robert was attending some of his lectures and always went on and on about what a genius he was.  
Presumably Prof Cobb was on his way to pick his wife up and maybe have a nice dinner or whatever happily married couples did, and Saito was accompanying him.

The two men disappeared into the art building and he quickly snapped his eyes forward again, quickening his steps to close up to Ariadne who hadn’t noticed Arthur falling back slightly as he drooled over Cobb’s fit physique.  
Before he could say something to prove he was listening to Ariadne’s chatter and hadn’t drifted off again, she suddenly gasped quietly and froze in place, making Arthur almost bump into her and knock her over by accident.

Stumbling he caught himself and followed her wide eyed gaze even though he already knew this expression well enough to guess what (or rather _who_ ) she was staring at. Sure enough he found the by now familiar figure of that guy with the dark curls, Ariadne had whined to him about on numerous occasions. She didn’t even know his name, had only met him twice on some dorm-party she’d been to but she was absolutely convinced he was super smart (and cute and funny and interesting and so on).  
Arthur wasn’t so sure but the guy seemed nice enough with an easy (if not entirely genuine) smile and generally friendly behaviour. 

»There he is again«, Ariadne murmured wide eyed and abruptly turned to her side to face Arthur as if she’d seem less like some kind of stalker staring at her curly haired genius like this. »Oh god, what do I do?«  
Arthur couldn’t really understand what Ariadne was so nervous about, she’d had boyfriends before, she was beautiful, she was smart and usually she had a pretty remarkable self-esteem. Why she was making such a fuss about this guy and didn’t just approach him like all the other blokes who’d afterwards hassled Arthur for her phone number was something he’d never understand. »Um, why don’t you go and say hi or something?«

She stared at him and blinked slowly as if she couldn’t believe he’d just said something this stupid. With a snort she turned around again to look at the man of her dreams one more time and when Arthur did the same thing – in search for what on earth it was that attracted Ariadne about this guy, not to swoon all over him, mind you – he noticed who he was talking to.  
Fucking Eames.  
He had his bag hanging off his shoulder, crumpling the fabric of his jacket carelessly, and they were talking quite animatedly though it didn’t seem as if they were in some sort of discussion. They looked more like … friends, really. When Ariadne’s object of desire said something with a quirk of his lips, Eames laughed and it wasn’t the same laugh Arthur had heard a thousand times already, mildly amused if sarcastic; this laugh was more genuine. Like this bloke had said something that was honestly funny to Eames.

For the first time Arthur noticed how the row of white teeth was remarkably uneven, teeth not really crooked but definitely not in a neat, even row. Had Eames always had these terrible teeth or was that new? It should’ve come as a relief, some imperfection in a face that sported only the most perfect, plushest lips, a beautifully stubbly jaw, sun kissed skin stretching over high cheekbones and strong, electrifying eyes (Arthur was never sure what colour exactly they were, some mix of greyish green and steely blue). It was not, though. Eames’ face could seem harmless when it was still, blank and pretty, not much more to it than beauty and presumably much stupidity behind it. When those teeth flashed though … it made him look even more cheeky than usual, as if Eames was in need of more cheek.  
Arthur would’ve snorted like Ariadne just had, but he was interrupted by Nash – whose presence Arthur had quite forgotten by this point, thank you very much.

»Oh, do you guys know Yusuf as well?«, Nash asked and looked at them curiously, his eyes flickering to Eames and the other guy repeatedly.  
»Yusuf?«, Ariadne repeated surprised and at least tried not to look like a love-sick puppy. »Is that the guy talking to Eames?«  
Nash looked at them again and shrugged. »Well, yeah. He helped me with the glue for my last project, he’s a chemistry-student. To be honest I don’t know much about this Eames, besides him being the most annoying person ever and apparently the kind of company Yusuf likes to keep. But Yusuf is alright really.«

 _We all knew about the annoying part_ , Arthur thought to himself and looked at this Yusuf-character even more critically. He didn’t care how smart this kid was, if he was friends with Eames –  
He couldn’t be friends with Eames, Eames did not have friends. Yusuf would have to be Eames’ pack, one of those idiots cheering him on no matter how brainless and stupid his next idea would be. As for being potential boyfriend-material for Ariadne, he would be ruled out immediately, she deserved someone better.

»Oi, Nash!«, Yusuf called and waved at Nash, an open friendly smile on his lips. Eames turned slightly to look whoever his friend – _pack_ – had spotted and his forehead creased arrogantly when his eyes brushed Arthur, lips curving into his usual sleazy-charming smirk.  
Nash went over to them and Ariadne followed, like she was being pulled towards them by some kind of invisible chain, before Arthur could suggest they leave. He really did not want to come too close to Eames but he also really didn’t want to stand by himself there like an idiot, so he followed after his friends. Just far less enthusiastic.  
Everyone had already introduced everyone by the time Arthur reached them but that didn’t stop Nash from grabbing him and dragging him practically right into the middle of their little conspiracy circle.

»This is Arthur«, Nash said and if his grip on Arthur upper arm wasn’t indication enough, his tone certainly was as he presented Arthur like some kind of protégé.  
»No shit«, Eames retorted and his grey-blue-green-whatever eyes widened comically as he stared at Arthur like he hadn’t just seen him literally three minutes ago. Actors man.  
»You don’t say«, Yusuf murmured and the way he looked at Arthur, almost intrigued, it felt much more genuine. Though why on earth a guy Arthur didn’t know, would find him intriguing he didn’t really understand. It wasn’t like Arthur was some kind of celebrity on the campus, quite the contrary; he was not very good with people (not that he minded) and most students thought him weird with his ties and dress shirts. ‘Too sharp’, that was what Ariadne had told him once was what most students thought of him. There were far worse things to be associated with; he even found he kind of liked it after all.

Arthur almost missed the stern look Eames shot Yusuf, one eyebrow lifted ever so slightly. What that expression meant though – he had no idea, shitty people-reading and all.  
»Hi«, he grit out under Yusuf’s inquiring gaze and escaped Nash’s grip by stepping sideways towards Ariadne. At least he managed to keep his impassive expression; that would’ve been really fabulous, losing it right in front of fucking Eames and his consort, not even to speak of Nash.  
Yusuf’s dark eyes stayed transfixed on Arthur’s face however and much to his surprise one corner of Yusuf’s mouth started to curl upwards, he looked almost… satisfied. With that smirk the guy nodded at Arthur and he could feel his eyebrows sinking immediately, his expression morphing into his ‘signature scowl’ how Ariadne had named it. Yusuf seemed a little bit irritated now at least but Eames next to him grinned wide and let out a sound of pure happiness at the sight of Arthur being clearly not amused.  
»Don’t mind him«, Eames stage-whispered to Yusuf so that everyone could hear. »He’s that kind of person who has their knickers in a twist constantly.«

Arthur had his mouth already opened for a sharp remark when Ariadne kicked, fucking _kicked_ him in the shin and his mouth immediately snapped shut to hold in the curse (whimper of pain) already on the tip of his tongue. Eames’ smirk got so much more self-satisfied he might actually be dripping it all over the floor; Arthur would have to be careful not to slip.  
»So«, Ariadne quickly interfered, Arthur had no doubt she could guess exactly what was currently going through his mind – they would _never_ find the body, Arthur was fairly confident in that. »What are you guys up to?«

Yusuf concentrated back on her instantly and he began talking about some experiment he was working on at the moment (Arthur only understood enough to know how explosive it was and how this experiment could quite possibly end up in the building of Yusuf’s flat being blown up) but Eames didn’t pay her any attention, his eyes trained on Arthur. It felt weirdly like a tiger staring at its prey, utterly confident it would get what it wanted and just waiting for the opportune moment to strike. The feeling of being any kind of prey made Arthur’s skin crawl and he shot Eames the iciest glare he could muster before turning away slightly in a demonstration of how he would ignore the infuriating Brit from now on.  
Ariadne didn’t notice a thing of all this, she was staring at Yusuf with glazed-over eyes and slightly parted lips, looking like she’d just dug up the most fascinating work of art ever discovered by man. 

»What about you?«, Yusuf asked when he finished his chemical tale and the genuinely interested look reminded Arthur of how they were in fact having a conversation. Well, Ariadne and Yusuf at least. And Nash maybe.  
»Oh, we’re going to watch a movie«, Ariadne said and gestured vaguely towards Arthur. He nodded stiffly when Yusuf’s eyes fluttered to him before they returned to Ariadne.  
»What are you going to watch?«  
She shrugged and Arthur could see how the tips of her ears were coloured deeply pink from the excitement of finally having a real conversation with her chem-geek. »We don’t know yet, actually. We were gonna pick one when we made the popcorn.«

That was how it usually went. They would go to her dorm room, because it was slightly bigger than Arthur’s and far more…well, homey. Arthur’s room wasn’t uncomfortable or anything, Arthur liked it the way it was, but Ariadne’s room was just somehow warmer. More welcoming. Whatever.  
So, they’d meet at her place, Arthur’d bicker about how messy it was even though they both knew his own room looked a bit like hers occasionally, they’d make popcorn or order pizza or something of the like and only when everything was ready they’d start to wonder which movie they were gonna watch.  
Because those evenings weren’t really about the movie, of course, it was all about hanging out with a friend, a real friend, someone they trusted and could relax around. Nonetheless picking a movie always ended up in a big discussion (competition) and to be perfectly honest, mostly Ariadne’s choice of movie would win. Not every time but most times.

»Oh, something romantic then?«, Yusuf asked, far too interested to fake the nonchalance he was obviously going for.  
Eames snorted like Arthur would have liked to, but since he was a nice polite guy he didn’t.  
»No, we – we’re not like that, we’re just friends«, Ariadne hastened to clarify quickly and laughed nervously, her eyes flickering to Arthur for some support like she would usually get from him. But he squinted his eyes, busy staring at Eames who did nothing to hide his amusement.  
Chuckling quietly to himself he shook his head looking at Yusuf in something that might be pity, before ruffling a hand through his hair and pulling out a pack of cigarettes. He pulled one out and pushed it between his lips, pocketed the pack again and started searching his pockets – presumably for a lighter. When he finally found one he lifted it to his face, already cupping it, protecting the tiny flame from flickering out even though there wasn’t even a breeze; Arthur had the strong childish urge to blow out that stupid little flame in Eames’ hand. His forehead creased in a way like he was concentrating but it was obviously just a habit, because he’d evidently had more than enough practice lighting cigarettes, and – Eames’ eyes snapped up when he took the first drag and he froze in place for a second when he noticed Arthur’s stare.  
Well. Shit. Why again had he been watching Eames like this? Perhaps Eames had some sort of hypnotic power or something … and that was just ridiculous, Arthur really needed to stop thinking this nonsense, his brain wasn’t made for this kind of petty bullshit. Must be Eames’ presence, he could almost _feel_ his IQ getting lower and lower.

Even though he wasn’t sure if he blushed, Arthur kept his eyes trained on Eames, it would not do to look away now after he’d already been caught staring, that’d just make him look stupid and childish and he wasn’t in high-school anymore. Eames stared right back, his mouth twisted into that infuriating, seemingly always present smirk around his cigarette, and then he fucking _winked again_. Winked at Arthur and took a deliberately deep drag, his lips tightening around the cigarette in the most obscene way like Arthur’d always thought only existed in extraordinarily filthy porn. Smoke curled from his mouth when he exhaled softly and it lingered around Eames’ jaw and neck for a few moments like it wanted to cling to him. Those greyish eyes were watching Arthur heavy lidded, it was a lazy, almost predatory gaze and he decidedly didn’t like that spark of sharp intelligence glinting from under those lashes, like Eames knew exactly what Arthur thought of him and showed him just how wrong he was for thinking Eames stupid.  
Arthur turned his gaze away resolutely, determined to not let Eames pry his attention away from Ariadne again from now on.

Yusuf was busy recommending movies, Arthur knew for a fact were terrible, to Ariadne and she nodded enthusiastically along, practically glowing with joy and bouncing on the balls of her feet, suddenly somehow taller than usual like her energy just filled up the space around her tiny frame like it befit her personality.  
He could feel Nash slouching next to him, his shoulders always curled inwards when he got bored (which was, like, seventy percent of the time apparently) and his eyes seemed even more sleepy than usual. Arthur would like nothing more than to just leave here, as he was sure Nash did, but he had been taught manners and politeness and so he waited like a good friend for Ariadne to finish her conversation with Yusuf. Nash’s annoyance seemed to grow by the second.

He could feel Eames’ gaze burning into the side of his face, knew he was watching Arthur, maybe even eyeing him in that flirty, mockingly hungry way he sometimes did. At first it had irritated the hell out of Arthur, he wasn’t used to being the center of attention and even though it was only Eames’ attention that was concentrated on him, Eames apparently had quite a lot of attention to spare. It helped nothing to bristle, though, nor did scowling or even glaring, so he’d just taken to ignoring it after a while and it had eventually stopped, thank god.  
Now, though, now Eames seemed to be determined to turn as much of his attention on Arthur as he possibly could and maybe he _could_ even have been thrilled to just be given that attention, because quite frankly, Ariadne had put it as bluntly and truthfully as possible: Arthur needed to _finally_ get laid. He wouldn’t mind just a blowjob or at least some serious making out with maybe a handjob worked in between, Arthur would be totally fine with that, too. He’d of course prefer the blowjob but he had had some boring blowjobs as well as fucking mind-blowing handjobs, so he would take whatever was offered.

After he’d first noticed the looks Eames was so provokingly shooting him, Arthur had started to analyse every detail he noticed, because that was just the kind of person Arthur was. He could spend hours staring into thin air, frozen in place, while his mind was rapidly working, processing and putting everything into order.  
So of course he had analysed this new kind of attention Eames was paying him and he’d soon come up with some depressing results that ended in him perfecting his not-interested-I’m not-even-acknowledging-your-unworthy-presence-peasant frown. It had put a resolute stop into every appreciation for Eames’ attention to him, Arthur might’ve grown into after a while. Because for all his flirtations, all his charm dripping everywhere Eames went, all the self-confidence emanating from him and all his come-hither smiles, Eames wasn’t the least bit serious. Not like that really was a revelation in itself, but it still came as a kind-of-surprise how Eames seemed so _inviting_ and _open_ all the time, like he put himself on display just to show he couldn’t be harmed in any way. But it was all fake, a façade, a mask he put on to fool the rest of the world and lure them into a false sense of security, letting them think they knew all about who Eames was, _how_ Eames was. In truth he was the most closed-off person Arthur had come across in a long time, and that was a lot coming from Arthur who knew bloody well how he himself was practically the impersonation of ‘closed-off’. No matter how inviting, teasing and open Eames might act, there would never be any honest, real interest behind it, Arthur knew.

It was good actually, that Arthur had managed to find out so quickly. He didn’t like people easily, mostly they seemed petty and annoying and just so very _slow_ to Arthur, so he put up with them but didn’t really like them. He liked his family, Mom and Dean and after while he had even come to like Mom’s new boyfriend (now husband) Rich. He liked Ariadne. He liked his roommate Robert a little.  
But Arthur knew himself well enough to be terrifyingly sure, how he never stopped liking people he had finally _come to like_. He didn’t trust easily so if he trusted someone, he would never ever believe them to betray that trust which meant in return Arthur wouldn’t either.  
Eames was dangerous in that sense, he could just _make_ people like him. Maybe he could’ve made Arthur like him. Before he’d realized how very little Eames was really showing of himself on the outside. Sometimes Arthur wondered if Eames maybe was even more closed off than himself. It didn’t seem as silly as it should’ve.

At the very least, it relieved him somewhat if nothing else. He didn’t have to worry about how serious this crush on him was, Eames seemed to have developed. He didn’t have to spend hours, nights pondering on how to respond, how to show Eames Arthur was very much not interested, thanks a lot, without possibly hurting Eames’ feelings. He didn’t have to wonder if Eames even had feelings Arthur could hurt, accidentally or deliberately.  
Eames had his feelings protected so well by his façade, Arthur was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to hurt them even if he was intending to. Which he was not. Eames wasn’t personally rude or cruel to Arthur, he was just annoying and many people annoyed Arthur. There was no reason at all to treat Eames differently than all the others.

»Don’t listen to him«, Eames suddenly said in the midst of Yusuf’s little speech. »All those movies are terrible, seriously, don’t listen to him.«  
Yusuf scowled at him and Arthur didn’t really know whether he should be offended on Yusuf’s part for Eames being such a rude prick or amused, because he had thought quite the same. »Fuck you very much, Eames. Your input is very much appreciated.«  
Eames smiled wide and unbearably charming. »No problem at all, Yusuf, you know it is kind of my specialty.« Then he leaned forward and muttered secretively even whilst making sure Yusuf could hear every word: »You should watch _Casablanca_. Always a good choice, even Yusuf with this truly hideous taste in movies has admitted that.«  
Yusuf rolled his eyes so hard, Arthur was worried his eyeballs would get stuck in their sockets. »Ah ha, bloody, ha.«  
Eames’ smile widened even more, revealed his uneven teeth, and he bowed gracefully like Arthur imagined a proper English gentleman would. If only Eames had been such a proper English gentleman.

»C’mon.« Arthur nudged Ariadne and ignored the relieved sigh from Nash. »Let’s go.«  
He threw a polite smile in Yusuf’s direction and nodded in a hopefully friendly way. »It was nice meeting you.«  
Yusuf nodded and smiled easily even though his eyes flickered to Ariadne twice while he said: »You too.«  
»Well … I guess, I’ll – uhm, _we_ ’ll see you around then?«, Ariadne said reluctantly but let Arthur take her elbow. She smiled helplessly at Yusuf and it was so painfully obvious everything, Arthur could’ve buried his face in his hands and groaned.  
»See ya, darling!«, Eames chirped and lifted his hand with the cigarette like he was toasting. He wasn’t really sure if Eames was addressing Ariadne or Arthur himself.

Nash fled as soon as they were out of sight and Arthur and Ariadne ended up watching _Casablanca_. The good thing was, Ariadne had totally forgotten bothering Arthur about not listening to her because he was too caught up obsessing about Eames’ insolence. She was far too busy swooning about Yusuf and Arthur was pretty sure she hadn’t actually seen much of the movie let alone understood the plot, because she was smiling during inarguably serious scenes.  
Arthur on the other hand did watch attentively and had to admit the movie was brilliant. _Damn you, Eames_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Say hi on tumblr! http://dont-kill-my-darling.tumblr.com/
> 
> Disclaimer: Inception and its characters aren't mine


	2. Breaks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments, I'm glad you liked it thus far!  
> This is the next chapter as promised and as before: feel free to point out mistakes so I can correct them. I haven't found any when I read through it but I might've missed something.  
> I hope you like it and please tell me what you think, I'm really starting to have fun writing this ;)
> 
> Chapter title: Breaks - The Black Keys

\- **Eames** -

 

He didn’t know why he couldn’t stop. It felt a little like when he had first gone into stealing – cars had been his favourite, he could never help himself after he’d done it for the first time. The adrenaline rush, the excitement and then the never ending triumph that had flooded him when he’d managed to pull it all off safe and sound without a soul noticing. After a while he’d even gone as far as stealing cars in broad daylight under the eyes of as big a crowd as possible, because it heightened his senses, made him hyper aware of every single person that passed him by. Every look felt threatening and suspicious, he felt like they knew something wasn’t right, but they were just unable to pinpoint if it was him or maybe something else entirely. Mostly he was pretty sure nobody had paid him any mind, just a normal bloke taking a little too long fiddling with his keys to get in his car, but that didn’t make the paranoid feeling go away because _he_ knew he was committing a crime right there, even though nobody else knew.  
And that feeling of having tricked them all, of escaping right under their noses, unhurried and sure of himself, was all worth it; it was almost as good as an orgasm. Not quite, but almost. Come to think of, during that time he’d had remarkably little sex and even less wanking, like car-theft had somehow (weirdly) made up for it.

Now, two years after he’d gotten off of this strangely arousing addiction he still felt his fingers itch sometimes when he saw a particularly beautiful car, like it was tempting him, beckoning him over like a long lost lover trying to convince him to take what he so clearly wanted. Because he really liked the feeling of taking some filthily rich arsehole’s toy away, people who could afford a Maserati, Porsche and the like deserved to have them stolen. Eames was just making life a little more fair, he was doing it for the people – and also he was paid a lot better when he brought a Porsche back than when he came with a VW, that was just the way it was.

And it was exactly like it was with Arthur.  
Not the whole stealing-part of course, Eames had never been into kidnapping and that sort of thing. But teasing Arthur, making him react and maybe even lose his cool for a few delightful moments, it made him feel as victorious as hijacking a beautiful, most elegant Maserati with a deliciously purring motor and smoothly shifting gear (not that automatic-bullshit; that was just wrong and lazy and definitely an American thing). Eames would drive such a car with so much glee, he’d return it to its owner unseen just so he could take it for another ‘test-drive’ whenever he felt like it again.  
So, Eames teased Arthur carefully, only ever pushed him that bit too close to his breaking point before he backed off so Arthur could gather his wits once more. The moment when Arthur would finally snap would be glorious; Eames didn’t need a psychic to tell him that. But in the meantime he enjoyed every minute of prodding and poking Arthur, rubbing him in all the wrong ways with a delight he’d found for very little things these days. Every scowl, icy glare and murderous look that was thrown his way felt just so rewarding, it brightened his days considerably.

»You’re absolutely mental«, Yusuf warned him with squinted eyes. His hand on Daisy’s furry head had stilled and that was a sure sign for serious-Yusuf. Normal distracted-chaotic-yet-brilliant-Yusuf never forgot to pet his cat, it just didn’t happen. Daisy, it seemed, wasn’t okay with this turn of events at all and began purring louder and pushing her head into Yusuf’s hand, blatantly demanding the attention she deserved.  
Eames leaned back with an unworried sigh and smiled relaxedly at Yusuf. »Don’t be so over-dramatic. You always knew what a clusterfuck my brain is, don’t feign surprise now. I won’t buy it.«  
»No, you nutter, I’m talking about the whole Arthur-situation«, Yusuf retorted rolling his eyes and petted Daisy a little harder than strictly necessary, but she selflessly refrained from protesting and just accepted what was finally, rightfully offered. »See? You’re even making me remember the poor kid’s name. What’s wrong with you, he’s gonna snap soon and he’s gonna snap hard. Give him a break, would you?«

»I made your remember nothing, least of all his name«, Eames said with the poshest lilt he could possibly lend his voice. »And I know what I’m doing, he’s all scowls and nobody’s-ever-gonna-find-the-body-when-I’m-done-with-you-looks but at heart he’s just a little puppy searching for his mommy.« Eames smiled fondly at the thought, if a little evilly. »It’s so much _fun_ annoying him, he makes the best sounds you can imagine when he’s caught by surprise and even when not, his scowls just keep getting darker. Did you know he had a frown plastered in his face for a whole week when I tipped his chair – he likes to balance on two legs, like a sodding fourteen-year-old, I swear to god – and he made the funniest scared-spider-movement I’ve ever seen. Ah, you can’t imagine how – «  
»Actually, I _can_ because you fucking told me like fifty times«, Yusuf cut him off darkly.

Had he really? Eames blinked in surprise then shrugged. The tale of Arthur-the-spider had to be spread anyways, it couldn’t hurt to tell it again and again.  
»Your little sadistic crush on that poor soul is all fine and well, really«, Yusuf went on and didn’t even halt when Eames opened his mouth to protest how nobody ever really was a ‘poor soul’ when Eames was (sadistically) crushing on them. »But you misjudge that kid on a level that makes it kind of dangerous, you know? Arthur’s most definitely not a little puppy, I can assure you. He’s had all kinds of crazy self-defence slash fight-training and he is socially so bad with people, I wouldn’t put it past him to snap your sorry neck one day and then calmly – logically – explain how he’d just done the universe a favour.«  
Yusuf didn’t seem as worried as he should be at the prospect of Eames having his neck snapped.

Eames had to take a moment to process the fact that Yusuf obviously had secret sources (maybe weird-name-girl had told Yusuf about the self-defence-thing? Or … Eames couldn’t begin to even imagine it, but maybe … Arthur himself?) before he could concentrate on the important stuff. »He wouldn’t snap my neck, I can take care of myself even against someone who’s taken a few self-defence-lessons when he was eight. Why don’t you stop worrying and let me have the fun I deserve with my newfound hobby, there’s a dear.«

During his little, teeny-tiny (honestly, they had been feather-light) brushes with the law he had learned very well how to defend himself, thank you very much. Eames could handle himself just fine even against multiple attackers; one slim bloke with a tie and neatly ironed shirts didn’t really worry him that much. He was almost offended Yusuf believed Arthur capable of taking down Eames.  
»I’m warning you«, Yusuf insisted and pointed one threatening finger at Eames, his eyes squinted darkly. »I’m gonna say ‘I told you so’ when you come to me beaten black and blue.«  
»If«, Eames corrected unworried. »If I come to you beaten black and blue. Which won’t happen, thanks a lot for your confidence in my skills.«  
Yusuf just sighed and shook his head, curls flapping around his ears, when Daisy apparently felt neglected long enough and jumped off his lap, but not without indignantly pushing her furry arse right into Yusuf’s face.

 

Later that week, Yusuf started to pointedly turn his back to Eames whenever he came close enough to Arthur to say something rude. The exasperated look he threw Arthur was practically a permission to murder Eames right on the spot. What a friend.  
»How are we today, darling?«, Eames purred and gave him the sauciest smirk he had in his repertoire.  
Arthur didn’t even bat an eyelash, which was a bit disappointing, because if Eames was sure of one thing, it was what a good flirt he was – a great one actually, an excellent flirt. When he had first started making teasing comments it had irritated Arthur much more than he’d anticipated. So, naturally, he had taken down that road and relished in the confusion radiating off of Arthur whenever Eames said or did anything that made it clear he was flirting with Arthur. He knew exactly when he’d gone too far, though, because then there wasn’t just confusion but downright helplessness in Arthur’s eyes, and that was mostly the point where he stopped. Mostly. Nothing bad about testing boundaries, right?  
»As always«, Arthur replied evenly, pointedly looking right past Eames.  
»Ah, of course, delighted to see me«, Eames nodded smiling wide. He didn’t need Arthur’s eyes on him to know he had his undivided attention. Arthur was always so stiff but when Eames was near he was even more tense, all his senses set on Eames like he expected him to pounce any moment and was prepared to react. Or rather, trying to be prepared. Eames took pride in behaving unexpectedly, after all.

»I’d call it ‘resigned’ but yes, we can use yours if you insist, I s’pose«, Arthur retorted dryly, eyes set on Yusuf’s back like he was willing him to end his conversation with Ariadne so he could finally flee Eames’ charming presence.  
»Aw, how nice of you«, Eames cooed and stepped half a step closer, smile turning into a triumphant smirk when Arthur’s dark eyes flickered towards him at the movement. »Be the bigger man and all that crap, yes?«  
»I don’t have to, I already am«, came the unimpressed reply and this time Arthur turned his gaze fully intentional towards Eames, an almost daring expression in his eyes.  
»That so?«, Eames asked. He’d never admit to it but he had thought about their height-difference himself quite a few times. Arthur always stood so straight, Eames could have come to the same conclusion of himself being a few inches shorter than Arthur. »In terms of _actually_ ‘big’ or more in terms of ‘tall’?«

The flash of defiance in Arthur’s eyes made Eames almost drunk on smugness. Arthur of course knew how much bulk Eames had on him, in terms of _actually_ ‘bigger’ Arthur didn’t really stand a chance. The guy was slender like a race-dog, all long lean limbs, whereas Eames had tried to make his shoulders seem wider and heavier than they actually were ever since he was fourteen, and him and his sister had lived in a quite nasty part of town.  
»What do you think?«, Arthur bit out and his face seemed even sharper in his anger, perfect skin even paler stretched taut over the strong jaw and high cheekbones. Eames pursed his lips but this time his hopes were unfulfilled, because Arthur kept his eyes on Eames’ and didn’t so much as throw even a teeny tiny look down at his lips. What a pity, Eames knew he had fucking perfect lips, even if his teeth left something to be desired.  
Eames hummed and decided not to answer that, instead he took two quick steps forward until he stood chest to chest with Arthur, who was obviously too surprised by this unexpected move to protest or even step away. »Let’s see…«, Eames mused and straightened his spine from its comfortable slouch, squared his shoulders and basically mimicked Arthur’s stiff posture. He was delighted to find out they were … pretty much the same height. He wasn’t really taller but he wasn’t shorter than Arthur either, and the fact that he _looked_ bigger no matter their height was immensely satisfying indeed.

His fingers brushed the top of Arthur’s hair as he laid his hand over both their heads to demonstrate their similar height with a triumphant smirk, and the corner of his mouth pulled upward automatically as Arthur seemed to finally catch himself and immediately his scowl slid back into place. Up close as they were, Eames could see exactly how very much Arthur wanted to step away, make room between them and widen the distance between their too-close-bodies. But there was no way he was going to back out and cower in front of Eames, so Arthur stood his ground even with teeth grit so hard Eames was almost sure he could hear them grind.  
»It’s pretty even Steven, I’d say«, Eames said so sweetly, his teeth ached with it. »Wouldn’t you agree, darling? No use in denying the obvious, right?«  
But all Arthur did was throw Eames a look that would pass as a death-threat under all circumstances, his lips pressed into a thin white line while basically every inch of his body screamed ‘ _get the fuck out of my personal space, move!_ ’ Eames just tilted his head and ignored what Arthur’s posture was declaring so obviously.  
And then he saw it.  
He knew his smile slid away by half and he stared probably pretty impolitely, but right on Arthur’s nose there was a fucking freckle. It was almost as pale as the rest of Arthur’s skin but up close as he was he could see the faint little spot of skin that was slightly darker than the rest. And there were more. The longer he kept staring the more freckles he could find; they left a trail over the bridge of Arthur’s nose and across the bow of his cheekbones where they faded completely. It was the sweetest, most disturbing thing Eames could imagine. Arthur wasn’t sweet, Arthur was … sharp and dry and cool like an ice-block. Arthur couldn’t have freckles, freckles were for nice, cuddly, cute people, fucking delightful people like Eames himself, not for robots with not a single spark of humour (or charm) in them.  
But they were right there, an army of sickeningly sweet, almost invisible freckles right under that deep dark scowl. Eames wondered if they got darker in the summer when Arthur was more exposed to the sun. Probably not since he couldn’t picture Arthur out in the sun, he seemed more like the kind of person who stayed indoors to avoid getting sunburnt and distracted by the beautiful weather.  
Damn, Arthur should’ve been born in England.

»What now?«, Arthur muttered and Eames realized he may have been staring at Arthur’s face from maybe two inches away for the better part of a minute.  
»Oh, nothing, I was just wondering if you’d hit me left or right if I’d kiss you«, Eames replied nonchalantly and leaned even closer until their noses were touching.  
Arthur’s mouth tightened even more and Eames could hear him gulp even though he didn’t budge and narrowed his dark eyes at Eames. »Neither«, came the cold, calm answer. »I’d wrench your fucking paws off me and dislocate your shoulder so you’d be left with the choice of trying it again or rather first tending to your ‘owie’.«  
Eames knew Arthur could see his eyes widen in surprise and quickly added a matching pleasantly-surprised smirk to it so it seemed more like a staged expression rather than real surprise. Aiming for an arrogantly sophisticated tone he said: »now, now, such violent thoughts, I’m not sure if that’s healthy, Mr. … ?«  
»Arthur«, was the short reply. With an exasperated huff and a last hard stare into Eames’ eyes Arthur stepped away and swiftly slid in between Yusuf and Ariadne to whisper something in her ear, dark eyes repeatedly twitching back to Eames. Oh, he was so close, so close to pushing poor dear Arthur too far … he just wasn’t sure if he should or even could stop now.

»See ya, darling«, Eames purred right into Arthur’s ear from behind when they were parting ways minutes later. Arthur’s shoulder was the perfect height to rest his chin on, as Eames discovered, he could maybe hold onto his narrow hips and pull Arthur back to his chest if … yeah, no, Arthur’d dislocate his shoulder if he tried anything like that, he reminded himself. He couldn’t suppress the smirk that formed on his lips at that thought – Arthur trying to dislocate his shoulders, cute. In which book could Arthur have found this great idea?  
Arthur jolted, the tiniest movement, but Eames felt it anyway. Humming and now happy with the world and himself, he strolled after Yusuf who was waving to Ariadne one last time, very efficiently ignoring the way Arthurs scowl was trying to spear him from behind.

»You’re a madman with a death wish«, Yusuf concluded that evening but without much vigour since he was busy texting with Ariadne. God, why did they take so long to go on a fucking date? Eames would’ve asked her out last week already, when they’d first shown their interest in one another, if – yeah, if Ariadne had only been a guy. A guy who fancied Eames, preferably.  
»I don’t feel very mad.« He shook his head easily and stared out of the window of Yusuf’s room, watching Arthur jog by over the road down below. Only a few days ago he’d discovered that Arthur apparently had a whole work-out-routine which led him by Yusuf’s dorm room every evening. He jogged to the sports-centre half an hour away from campus where he stayed for about an hour then came out again to jog or occasionally (on a bad day presumably) walk back to campus. Eames staying at Yusuf’s for quite some evenings in a row had nothing to do with this of course.

Twilight stayed long in Chicago before the summer-holidays, it wouldn’t be that much darker when Arthur came running back later, Eames knew.  
»What _are_ you staring at exactly?«, Yusuf asked, suspicious now, and looked up from his phone to Eames standing by his window, the poker chip he’d nicked when he’d been fifteen and reckless, flipping restlessly in his hands.  
»Oh, nothing in particular«, he said an watched Arthur’s form round the corner of the house, black hair bouncing on his head as he disappeared. His fingers pressed hard into the ridged edge of the chip as he lied through his teeth: »sadly I haven’t found anything I like to stare at up until now. As opposed to you obviously.«  
Yusuf might’ve blushed a bit under his darker tan and ducked his head sheepishly. As he rambled on about how it wasn’t his fucking fault Ariadne was so fascinating, Eames mused lazily it might be time to hit the gym again.

 

\- **Arthur** -

 

God, how he hated Eames. His knees felt like jelly all over again whenever he so much as thought about how those words had sounded from these obscenely full lips of Eames’. In that moment he couldn’t have told himself if he had wanted to punch or just fucking already kiss Eames, like he’d suggested. This flirty routine Eames had settled into so happily was stretching Arthur’s nerves to their limit and he was very much horrified at this totally unexpected reaction. Arthur was cool and collected, that’s just who he was, and if something was annoying him he had always just wanted to punch/strangle/shoot whatever had caused the irritation. There had never been even the possibility of kissing the cause of his annoyance before. Ever.  
He was used to teasing, his high-school-years had taught him well enough, so he could deal with snarky comments, muttered insults left right and front and sometimes even a leg he’d had to avoid tripping over. It had been okay, it hadn’t really been bullying, just something that happened occasionally and he’d had his circle of friends anyway – acquaintances that didn’t mind him being closed off or never inviting the rest of them over. Mostly they had been a bunch of snobs only interested in getting the top grades and themselves, but since Arthur fit in with his grades and he’d made an effort by wearing ties and shirts, they let him join them whenever he felt like it without showing much more than faked interest in his wellbeing now and again and maybe the occasional very much genuine request to borrow his notes.

But this … this was something else entirely.  
Never before had annoying Arthur been all about invading his personal space in this kind of blatant invitation, it had never been about whispering dirtily into Arthur’s ear whenever he wasn’t looking, and it had most definitely never consisted of teasing comments that were so obviously sexual, Arthur might’ve called it harassment. The problem was, though, that Arthur would never prove Eames wrong in his assumption Arthur wouldn’t react to it at all (apart from scowling uselessly). No matter how vivid the images were that Eames’ voice provoked, no matter how maddeningly his hands were itching to haul Eames in by his ruddy t-shirt and smack him across his stupid face – or bite his fucking tempting lips – Arthur would _never_ let himself act on it.  
Not only was Arthur far too stubborn to openly acknowledge the effect Eames’ flirting was having on him, he also wasn’t completely sense- or shameless and knew boundaries – something that seemed to be a completely foreign concept to Eames. He impersonated pretty much everything Arthur despised and he wouldn’t degrade himself just because of a handsome face and a few charming words. Everything sexual Arthur had done up to this point had been initiated by himself and only with people of his choice. He’d never been invited like this, teased until he felt helpless because he couldn’t do anything to stop it. This was all kinds of new to Arthur but he wouldn’t let himself be teased into doing something he would never do under normal circumstances, just because he was caught off guard. It was not going to happen, Arthur just wouldn’t let it.

In addition Arthur wasn’t entirely sure Eames was being serious in his flirting, maybe he just wanted to confuse Arthur and was far from interested in ever actually _doing_ what he was able to portray so lively in his descriptions of what he’d do to Arthur ‘if only he’d let him’. Maybe he was just spilling all the filth filling his mind day by day anyways and it wasn’t something he’d ever consider in reality. The fact that Arthur had of course never seen Eames with a bunch of girls (or, y’know, even just one of them) would fit perfectly into Eames being gay but Arthur still wouldn’t bet on it. It was quite hard, though, trying to be not interested enough in Eames’ person to go through the trouble of actually finding out about his sexuality. Arthur wasn’t sure if Eames was hiding it or just not emphasizing it like Arthur was used to.  
In the end it wouldn’t matter either way, obviously, since Arthur wouldn’t just jump Eames for the sole reason of him being gay as well. That was just ridiculous (and something his Mom still didn’t seem to get), no girl would just fuck every man just because they were both straight so why wouldn’t the same apply to being gay? Arthur didn’t get people sometimes.

So. There was really no way he was gonna act on those dumb little fantasies just because of Eames’ stupid game of _let’s-drive-Arthur-crazy_. Arthur would just grit his teeth through it and it would pass. Eventually. Some day. In the future. Hopefully.

Sweating and out of breath he jumped into the shower after his evening run and wasn’t surprised to find Robert hunched over a mountain of books when he got into their dorm room. Robert’s half of the room was filled with expensive accessories, thrown carelessly onto the floor or scattered over the bed. The only thing that was always in impeccable order was Robert’s desk, the rest was only tidied up when he caught his foot on something or actually had to sleep in his bed, which Arthur almost never got to witness because Robert was up before him and mostly fell asleep after him.  
Nonetheless he was a good roommate, apart from expensive nothings lying around he was pretty tidy, working hard like Arthur himself and he’d never puked in their room when he’d been out on a long night and got shitfaced. Arthur actually kind of liked him, which was a rare experience for him still, and Ariadne liked him as well, plus Robert was good at listening and not pushing for more than was offered, as well as sometimes telling Arthur random bits of his life (mostly his fucked up relationship with his father, even though Arthur hadn’t yet managed to talk about his own father to Robert just yet) without demanding pity or anything besides silence and attention.

»You look like shit«, Robert stated glancing up from his book. He wore a perfectly ironed shirt, obviously expensive, and had thrown an old cardigan, with a hole at his shoulder, over it, his dark hair party out of place because he had the habit of pulling at it when thinking very hard (he’d looked ridiculous during exams last semester).  
Arthur pushed wet hair out of his face and pulled a T-Shirt over his head even though it immediately clung uncomfortably to his damp skin. »Aw, thank you so very much, Mr. Fisher. You have _no_ idea how much this compliment means to me.«  
Robert snorted chuckling, his nose back in his book already. »Oh, I’m sorry, have I hurt your feelings, princess?«  
Arthur flipped him off and Robert chuckled again, looking up as Arthur flung himself on the bed and sighed with closed eyes. Eames was giving him headaches, this was exactly what he’d been trying to avoid. Why was this happening? What had he done to deserve this? »I’m just so fucking tired … «  
There was a short silence, then: »Someone giving you trouble?«  
Arthur could hear the frown in Robert’s voice. He waved his hand dismissively and kept his eyes closed. »Nah, it’s alright. I can handle it.«  
»You sure? I could send Browning to scare them off«, Robert suggested only half joking. The only thing Arthur knew about Peter Browning was that he was apparently working for Robert’s wanker of a father and looked a bit after Robert, like a kind of big brother – or uncle. Or something.

Arthur smiled and rolled to the side, pulling the blankets up and over his shoulder. He had a computing class first thing tomorrow and he really wanted to be able to follow, since that was one of the classes he’d actually chosen himself. He hadn’t exactly told Rich about them, but there was no reason why he would disagree and have Arthur quit them, so it didn’t really matter. He’d just tell Rich during summer break.  
»Thanks Robert, but I’m really fine.«  
»U-huh… tell me when that changes.«

 

It did change when Arthur punched Eames. He had asked for it of course and that was the beginning of the whole situation escalating, so it really was all Eames’ fault entirely.

Arthur had done his evening run to the sports-center like always and had actually been less exhausted than before, because he hadn’t seen Eames for a few days now and was starting to relax gradually. Ariadne had been swooning over Yusuf, even though they’d spoken, like, thrice, and Arthur had actually had a really nice conversation with him when they’d met by chance in the library last week. Yusuf was still as friendly as he’d been in the beginning and hadn’t just bombarded Arthur with questions about Ariadne. There were some subtle hints of course as well as one or two questions in that direction but for the most part they’d drunken coffee and talked about university and chemicals and what Yusuf was experimenting with at the moment. He’d seemed delighted when Arthur had shown a genuine interest in his projects and understood most of it – Arthur had always liked chemistry in school, mostly because of the simplicity of it. When two certain chemicals collided, the outcome was predictable. At the same time there was still so much room due to unknown mixtures and how one could experiment with them. Yusuf’s love for it focused mostly on the experimenting, unpredictable part, but it was nice talking to him and Arthur hadn’t even been bored throughout the conversation.

Robert had gone out for the evening and Ariadne was out on a girl’s night. In the beginning she’d asked him so many times why he hadn’t chosen a room just for himself like she’d done, but she’d never been satisfied with his answers. Because it wasn’t the money, god knew Arthur had enough of that. It was the … well the loneliness probably. Arthur just liked coming home to someone, or at least a room where someone just _lived_ in. His half of their room was sparsely furnished, Arthur had a bed, a desk with a chair and a closet for his suits and ties. Most of his studying he did in the library, so the desk was pretty much unused apart from sometimes having books piled up on it. His way of living just wasn’t making the space _homey_ , it always ended up having the most uncomfortable atmosphere imaginable.  
In Robert Arthur had found the perfect roommate, since Robert as well hadn’t chosen to share a room because he couldn’t afford a single-room. They kept each other company and knew how to give the other the space they needed at the same time, so Arthur had had no reason to move out and into a flat for himself.

Having nothing to do for the evening Arthur had gone on his usual evening run and ended up at the sports-center as always. He’d been there for all of ten minutes, warming up and stretching for his usual exercises, when he heard a familiar voice. Before he could stop himself his head whipped around and he scanned the room with wide eyes – and there he was.  
Eames was leaning against a punching bag, gloves on his hands but otherwise completely unfittingly dressed for a gym. He was wearing cut off sweatpants that hung way too low on his hips and a white, worn-out tank top. His arms and shoulders were glistening slightly with sweat as well as the hollow between his collarbones and … tattoos. Of course he had god damn tattoos. Black ink was swirling over his shoulders and parts of his arms, peeking out at his collar and Arthur was almost sure he could make out some patterns on Eames’ hips under the thin fabric. His skin was tanned, which Arthur had always though unusual for a Brit, weren’t they supposed to be all pale and basically allergic to sun? In comparison Arthur’s own skin was very pale, the only thing his holidays in Florida last summer had achieved, was getting him sunburnt which ultimately had made him look like a tomato for a month or so.

Eames was talking to someone, a tall guy with dark, half-long hair, and his lips were curled into that familiar meaningless smile. The guy said something that made Eames snort and he pulled at the fastening on his left glove with his teeth, rolling his eyes in faint amusement. Stripping off his glove Eames’ eyes wandered through the room, now evidently bored and it was only when they locked onto Arthur’s when he realized he’d been frozen in the same position for a minute now, his neck arched awkwardly just so he could stare at Eames.  
Sure enough a smirk tugged on Eames’ lips and Arthur narrowed his eyes immediately, throwing him his best ‘stay away’-look before returning to his stretching. Why was he here? Arthur had never seen him in the gym before, this couldn’t be anything else than another method of fucking with Arthur’s head and annoying him. Suddenly he wished for a punching bag for himself, even though he’d never liked attacking. Defense had always been his strong suit, he had no problem whatsoever to hurt someone who was willing to hurt him. The other way around, that had always been something Arthur only did somewhat reluctantly. That was also why he’d sucked at sports, playing football or hockey or anything like that.  
Eames had probably been the fucking star of his football team, he’d probably been _outstanding_ at all that shit, Arthur thought and made the last stretch. Bouncing up and down, fists clenched and contemplating what to do next, he tried to slow his breath down and relax again.

»What’s it gonna be?«, he heard a voice behind him and all the relaxing was for naught, he could feel his muscles locking up one by one, and closed his eyes even while turning around slowly to face Eames.  
»What?«, he asked as calmly as possible and opened his eyes. Eames held both gloves in one hand and rubbed through his sweaty hair, spine curled in that familiar slump again and … he wasn’t even wearing shoes. He was in a gym, had obviously been punching a stupid bag and wasn’t here for fucking Yoga or anything, and _he wasn’t even wearing shoes_. Arthur had the sudden and very strong urge to stomp on his bare toes as hard as possible. Preferably multiple times in a row.  
Eames smiled again serenely like he couldn’t see how he was raising Arthur’s hackles just by standing there right in front of him. »Oh, I was just wondering what’s it gonna be.« He nodded towards the weights piled in a far corner of the gym, the corner where all the idiots were always busy pumping and bulking up just so they could show off muscles to the girls. »Pushing weights, is that your thing? Or maybe a little more running?«

Arthur threw a glance at the bunch of people on the treadmills. He had joined them a few times actually but he preferred jogging outside, as long as the weather allowed it. Before he could answer Eames lifted a finger, his face lightning up. »Ah! No, I know. You’re more into that kind of thing, am I right?«  
He pointed his finger at the mats laying on the ground in a kind-of-secluded area behind some glass-walls, a few people making weird poses on them. Yoga or Pilates or whatever it was called.  
Eames grinned angelically. »You’re all about being Zen and finding your inner center or something like that, right? Never let yourself be provoked, never break any rules – or have any fun for that matter – never hurt any living thing and be at peace with the entire world… all that kind of stuff, huh?«  
Arthur knew the muscles of his jaw were twitching visibly, but he couldn’t help it, he just wanted to punch Eames so _so_ bad. Smacking that smug, arrogant smugness off if his face seemed like the only thing Arthur was capable of thinking about right now.

»Normally I like to fight, beat someone up, but I there seems to be a serious lack of equal opponents in this room at the moment, so I think I’m gonna go«, he said as evenly as possible even though half of it came out as a hiss. His nails were digging hard into his palms and he was clenching his jaw so hard, his teeth started to ache with it. Yet again.  
Eames sighed dramatically and pulled a pout, is lips standing out obscenely of course, and Arthur had to close his eyes for a second. »Oh no, that’s too bad, I’m terribly sorry.« He returned Arthur’s look for a full minute, seemingly unbothered by how Arthur was practically seething where he stood, and only when Arthur had finally gathered the strength to turn away and start walking Eames spoke again: »You could always try me. I don’t make for a good punching bag though, I’m afraid.«

Arthur turned back around, Eames basically _requesting_ to be punched was almost too good to be true. Eames lifted his shoulder apologetically but there was a spark of amusement in his eyes that warned Arthur off even before Eames spoke again. »You see, opposed to your previous ‘opponents’ I actually _do_ hit back.«  
This time it was complete stillness that flooded Arthur’s veins, no blind rage clawing at his insides. He looked Eames up and down once more, this time measuring him. He was not ripped, strictly speaking, because opposed to Arthur, who seemingly couldn’t put on any fat at all, Eames was muscular in a kind of meaty way. His arms and shoulders were heavy with strong chords of muscles, and to Arthur it looked like he’d just put on muscles for the sake of having them, not came to them by training hard. Arthur was almost sure Eames had put on all that muscle just by lifting weights and punching a stupid bag, maybe he’d thrown a real punch once or twice in his life but he most definitely hadn’t been trained like Arthur had. »You sure?«  
Eames cocked his head, his eyebrows twitching the only indication of his confusion. »Of course, darling. Let’s just get you some gloves and protection for your pretty face, okay?«  
Arthur did his best to mimic a stubborn child. »No, thank you, I’m good. Now.«  
Eames seemed to hesitate for a second, then shrugged and let his gloves drop to the floor with a shrug. He stepped forward, right into Arthurs range and sighed: »Alright then.«

Arthur punched him in the face as soon as the last word was out of his mouth and it felt fantastic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Say hi on tumblr! http://dont-kill-my-darling.tumblr.com/
> 
> Disclaimer: Inception and its characters aren't mine


	3. Painted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: descriptions of voilence in this chapter - no blood or major injuries, though!
> 
>  
> 
> Chapter title: Painted - MSMR

\- **Eames** – 

As soon as he saw Arthur enter the gym he felt the childish urge to bounce on his feet and clap his hands gleefully. He hadn’t been entirely sure if Arthur would actually show up tonight, since it was a Friday night and maybe Arthur had something better to do? Friends and all that stuff.  
But no, Arthur was here, and Eames couldn’t _not_ go and talk to him. After all the whole point and purpose of himself being here was to see exactly what Arthur was up to while he was here. And maybe to tease him. Just a bit.

Travers still tried to talk him into sparring when he finally let himself look, really _look_ at Arthur across the room, and miraculously found those dark eyes staring back at him. They widened in mortification of course, as soon as Arthur realized he’d been caught ogling. Not that Eames could blame him, he knew he looked fantastic in the most see-through-tank-top he owned and his favourite shorts. He wore them for exactly this kind of reaction, so he smirked at Arthur and received a glare for his troubles.  
»Hold on a sec«, he ordered Travers and held up his hand. He let him stand there with no intention whatsoever to return later and sauntered over to where Arthur was doing some kind of bouncy-stretchy-whatever-exercise.

»What’s it gonna be?«, Eames asked when he was close enough and watched the muscles in Arthur’s back lock up. They weren’t bulky like his own, just wiry strong chords of muscle, most likely hard as stone at the moment. Arthur would look lovely with his shirt off, Eames reckoned. All that smooth pale skin stretched taut over bones and muscle, not very much body-fat on him.  
Thing was, Eames enjoyed a challenge. He really, _really_ did. So normally he would’ve walked away from Arthur, no harm done. He didn’t want to fight weaker opponents, at least not when it wasn’t for a very good reason. Teaching Arthur’s sharp tongue a lesson was not one of those good reasons and so he hesitated even though half of his mind was already busy mapping out Arthur’s body for spots to hit without doing too much damage. When Arthur just kept pushing, Eames started getting suspicious but when the cheeky bugger suggested they do it with bare hands he just thought _right, that’s it_ and threw his gloves on the ground. He had no idea how Arthur could misjudge their situation so completely but please, if Arthur wanted a beating he could have it.  
»Alright then.«

And then his head swung back, he tumbled and almost fell over. Only years of experience prevented him from actually landing on his buttocks and for a moment he stared at Arthur, shell-shocked and with no idea what the hell just happened. Then the ache started spreading from the left side of his jaw through his teeth, which felt like they were still rattling, almost falling off, and over the left side of his face.  
Eames hissed in a breath and scrunched his face, the ache turning into a flaming pain and he knew he’d have a spectacular shiner come tomorrow. Yusuf wouldn’t be able to stop laughing. At least Arthur’s hand would be swollen as well, there was no way to punch someone like this and not have your knuckles swell up ridiculously.

»Bastard«, he gritted out through his teeth and scrunched his face up again, shaking his head to get rid of the ringing in his ear, and clenching his jaw to get used to the pain as quickly as possible.  
»Sorry, I didn’t know my own strength there«, came Arthur’s voice and when Eames looked up, his face was deadpan like he was trying very hard to hold back a laugh. »I didn’t hit you too hard, did I?«  
Eames felt his lips twist into the mixture of a snarl and a smile. »Don’t you worry, darling. It’s all fine.«  
Arthur’s fists hadn’t loosened a fraction and his stance was ready to go any given moment, legs spread slightly and feet planted securely on the ground. His shirt was clinging to his skin and his jogging-pants fell loosely, crumpling around his ankles over his shoes. At least the product in his hair had been lost a bit due to the sweat of the jog, dark hair curled at his nape and behind his ears, softening the sharp cut angles of Arthur’s face slightly.

Eames didn’t have to ask if Arthur was ready, he pounced on him immediately, delivering a few testing blows, which were all blocked expertly. He changed his stance slightly, made to throw his shoulder forward with his next punch but kicked out his leg instead and hit Arthur right in the soft section between ribs and hip-bones. At least it should’ve been soft, Arthur had been too slow to duck or block and so his abs were tensed and hard as stone when Eames’ foot made contact. They both hissed and for a few seconds just stood still, watching the other intently.  
Arthur made a short step in Eames direction and he launched immediately, aiming for his left shoulder. Instead of blocking like he’d done before, Arthur caught his arm and locked his own around it, pulling Eames towards him and trapping him effectively against his body, face smashed into Arthur’s sternum. A hand pressed down between Eames’ shoulder blades, at the same time he could feel Arthur’s muscles shift as he changed his stance and then there was a bony knee ramming up into the exact same spot he’d kicked Arthur before. His punched-out groan came muffled against Arthur’s chest. Arthur hit him again, the knee landing in the same spot as before with almost frightening precision.

Eames may be in Arthur’s hold for now but while Arthur had to rely on technique, Eames could use his body weight very efficiently. He grabbed the back of Arthur’s shirt and heard something tear. Then he brought his legs closer and pulled as hard as he could.  
They went tumbling down as Arthur lost his balance immediately, standing on just one foot, the other knee up and in Eames’ stomach again. Eames gripped his back tighter and wound his arm around Arthur’s thigh, kept him in place when they doubled over. It didn’t go as he’d planned because Arthur fell forward and not backward like Eames had wanted and so he just held onto him and used the momentum of their fall to roll and twist until Arthur was on his back, Eames’ feet landing on the ground with a loud, inelegant thumping sound. His body was arched uncomfortably with his head still on Arthur’s sternum, blinking up at the ceiling and his feet on the ground. Arthur’s thigh gripped tight he twisted around until he could face Arthur.  
His face was flushed, sweat glinting on arms and neck and his dark hair tumbled everywhere like a weird, black sort of halo. He was breathing hard and blinked into the bright light of the ceiling, obviously still processing what had happened. Eames had watched too long though. He had Arthur’s thigh in a secure grip but other than that he had pinned him down pretty carelessly and as soon as Arthur’s eyes focused on him, there was movement again. Sliding, writhing limbs, an elbow boring into Eames’ chest and suddenly Arthur had his free leg wrapped around Eames’ waist, holding him in place as he delivered blow after blow to Eames’ inner thigh, hitting the exact same spot over and over again. Eames groaned once more and gripped Arthur’s leg tighter, twisted it inch by inch to get Arthur to stop.

And then there was suddenly someone tugging Arthur’s thigh free, no more fists abusing Eames’ poor leg.  
»Hastings! Eames!«, a sharp voice snapped into his ear and Eames ducked his head in irritation.  
»Yes, yes, I’m here«, he grumbled and rubbed over his ear. »What the fuck, man … «  
There was an angry man standing in between the two of them, tall and with blonde, dyed hair. He looked at Arthur, who was still breathing hard and busy tugging his twisted shirt up over his shoulder where Eames had pulled it down. When the man turned to Eames his look turned into a glare and Eames briefly wondered how he knew his name. Arthur had been here often enough for someone to know his name, but him … well, he was Eames, everyone always knew about the troublemaker, didn’t they?  
»No fighting without gloves!«, the man barked into his face and Eames felt his eye brow twitch in aggression. »No fighting without mats!«, he continued on and Eames would’ve liked to roll his eyes. »No fighting without god-damn protection, are we clear?«  
Eames gave a shrug and picked up his gloves from the ground without taking a step back, so when he stood straight again, he was still right in front of the yelling idiot. The man’s eyes wandered over Eames, upper lip curled in distaste and Eames wanted to tell him not to be such a drama queen. Then his eyes bulged when he saw Eames’ very much bare feet.  
»Crystal clear«, Eames promised and threw the most charming smile he could manage, before darting out to dodge the exceptionally boring speech that was about to be delivered.

To his surprise Arthur walked into the changing room only shortly after him when Eames was just pulling his jeans up. He left it un-zipped and un-buttoned, just turned towards Arthur and crossed his arms before his chest. Arthur wasn’t changing, he didn’t even have clothes with him to change into.  
»What?«, Eames asked when Arthur sat down on the bench Eames’ pants were thrown on currently and Eames had no idea how Arthur still managed to look collected and almost … _pristine_.  
»That was a good fight«, Arthur said, no emotion in his voice. He didn’t even look at Eames just sat there, hands folded neatly in his lap.  
Eames’ mouth fell open. That was the first sort-of compliment Arthur had ever given him and it was for bloody beating him up? »That … uh … okay, yeah.«  
Arthur’s brow furrowed and he looked up, traces of confusion now visible in his eyes. »Wouldn’t you say?«  
Eames managed to get himself together and shrugged nonchalantly. »You could’ve hit me harder, you know.«  
A muscle on Arthur’s jaw twitched and Eames wasn’t entirely sure if it was hidden amusement or a sign of aggression. »Next time then.«

For the second time in one minute Eames’ mouth fell open but this time there wasn’t even one word coming out of his mouth. He just formed words that went unspoken, his throat clicking as his brain scrambled to make sense of this.  
»I … you … what? Next time, that … _what_?«  
Arthur’s lips curled into something closest to a smile Eames had ever seen on him up to this point. There was a hint of … something, right there on his cheek, like the shadow of a dimple, and Eames felt his own eyes bulge at the sight of it. Arthur stood again and padded invisible dirt off his trousers. »Yeah, next time we can fight with gloves and mats and all that, like Mac said.«  
Mac? Probably angry-ridiculous-speech-guy. Eames still didn’t know what to say and so he just stood straight, squared his shoulders and saluted. »Aye, Sir.«  
Arthur’s eyebrows wandered dangerously close to his hairline. »You’re such a pain in the ass, you know that? I just said you’re a good fight, that’s all.«  
»Sure, darling«, Eames purred and tilted his head so he could look at Arthur through his lashes as he tried for a shy smile. Shyness had never suited him, but at least he tried hard to mimic it. »Whatever you say, darling.«  
This time Arthur’s mouth twisted, it was definitely the pissed-off kind. »And wear fucking shoes when we’re not on the mats, okay?«, he said turning around and brushing over Eames’ remark like he hadn’t even heard it.

»Yes, Sir«, Eames saluted again and watched intently how the soft stretchy fabric of Arthur pants shaped his lovely little bum. Somehow he had the feeling he’d be hitting the gym much more frequently from now on.

 

\- **Arthur** \- 

Fist fights with Eames weren’t a complete disaster as it turned out. Arthur wasn’t really sure why he’d even suggested it, he didn’t like fighting, he just liked defending himself. But there had been something about the way Eames had pounced on him after Arthur’d hit him. Like something had been sleeping deep inside Eames and had been rattled awake by the collision with Arthur’s fist. It was somehow fascinating and terrifying at the same time and that mixture had resulted in the taste of adrenaline on Arthur’s tongue and forgetting all the rest of the world.  
His knuckles were swollen and red for a week after and he had bruises forming faintly on his thigh where Eames had gripped him hard. Eames was even limping a bit when Arthur passed him by the next day on campus, his side where Arthur had repeatedly hit him was obviously sore but Eames had shown his wonky teeth in a smirk when he saw Arthur looking. He didn’t seem to mind.

Arthur was sure however, that Eames hadn’t been using all his strength on him. It was impossible for someone with such heavy arms to only be able to deliver softer blows than Arthur himself. The fact that Arthur had only faint bruises and a dull ache in his thigh was partly due to not giving Eames a real opportunity to punch him with all his strength. But it wasn’t entirely because of that, it was also because Eames hadn’t used the opportunities that had presented themselves during their kind-of ground’n’pound.  
Either Eames hadn’t wanted to use his strength on Arthur like he could’ve (in which case Arthur would feel seriously offended) or, and this seemed much more likely to Arthur, Eames hadn’t had the training Arthur’d had. For him to be able to still pose a serious opponent in a fight to Arthur was … pretty impressive, if Arthur was being honest. Eames hadn’t had the best technique but he was efficient and it was clear he’d been fighting before. Arthur just didn’t know under what kind of circumstances that had been. He could imagine anything in Eames life, from a rough childhood to just a spoilt brat being bored and picking fights for fun.

Either way, Arthur wanted it again, wanted to immerse himself in the pure physicality of it and feel the rush of adrenaline that made everything clear for a few moments, just how Arthur liked it.  
Plus the absolutely flabbergasted look Eames had shot him when he’d suggested sparring sometime again was priceless and Arthur still grinned every time he recalled it. Immediately after he mostly flushed though, because with that memory came the image of Eames, sweaty glistening torso, dark tattoos stretched over deliciously curving muscles and the waistband of black underwear peeking out from his unbuttoned and therefore low-slung jeans.  
Arthur had never really gone for the muscled type, but he _had_ always been a sucker for blue eyes. Now, Eames’ eyes weren’t exactly blue of course, but in that moment widened in disbelief they appeared the clearest blue Arthur could’ve imagined. It was oddly charming in a way Arthur would’ve never expected it from Eames.

The next time he jogged to the gym, Eames showed up ten minutes later, this time with an actual pair of shoes even if they wouldn’t need them this time, not if they would fight on the mats. The worn down sweatpants were the same and this time he wore a dark red t-shirt, not that ridiculous see-through white tank top. Arthur felt strangely relieved and disappointed at the same time, swallowed it down though and waved at him through the room with the most expressionless face he could manage. Eames nodded and a vague smile tugged on those obscene lips of his as he looked Arthur up and down once again, like he was some piece of quality-meat that needed to be examined.  
He sauntered over while Arthur busied himself with setting up the mats and then pulling his gloves on. From the corner of his eye he could see Eames halting at the edge of the mat and crossing his arms before his chest, watching him closely, and Arthur felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. When he was done and ready he stood up straight again and shot Eames an impatient look, since he hadn’t moved an inch until now. »You ready?«

Eames didn’t react for another long second, then nodded curtly and kicked off his shoes. »Good to go.« Apparently though, Eames wasn’t going to wear his perfectly fine t-shirt and hide his torso under dark red fabric – with which Arthur would’ve been perfectly fine, honestly – no, he pulled it over his head and dropped it next to the shoes. His sandy-coloured hair stoop up spiky, stuck out everywhere, but Eames didn’t seem to mind and just pulled on his own gloves.  
Then he stepped onto the mats and into his position opposite to Arthur, rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. Normally Arthur would’ve written that off as show-off-behaviour but Eames didn’t seem to look for any kind of reaction, it just seemed like a routine.

»No punching or kicking in the face, no dislocated joints, nothing like that, are we clear?«, Arthur asked, flexing his fingers in the gloves.  
Eames rolled his eyes. »You’re doing everything to prevent me from getting you back for last week, huh?«  
»No.« Arthur squared his shoulders and stared hard. He would not fight with Eames if it was only for the childish reason to ‘get him back’. »I’m trying to prevent us from getting major injuries here, so if you’re not up for that you can go right away.«  
Eames blinked and a brief flash of pissed-off disbelief passed his face. He rolled his shoulders once more, face a perfectly neutral expression and for the first time Arthur wanted to know what he was hiding this time. If this was Eames’ temper … well Arthur looked forward to coaxing it out a bit more.  
»I’m here, aren’t I?«, Eames said grumbling and lifted his fists to his chin, bouncing on his feet in impatience now.

Arthur didn’t answer, he just nodded as a signal to start and Eames was on him the very next second. Their first round ended up in tangled limbs, bodies wrapped around each other in twists and turns, one time Eames was on top, the next time Arthur had the upper hand again. They untangled themselves and Arthur smelled Eames’ skin on his t-shirt when he pulled it up to wipe over his brow. Eames was looking again, eyes trained on Arthur’s waistband and after long minutes of pushing, shoving, twisting, throwing and pulling, Arthur could even manage to smirk at that and shake his head instead of glaring pissed off at Eames.  
The next round they were both a bit more careful, more punched and kicks were thrown until it ended up with Arthur wrestling Eames to the ground and getting locked up between his thighs. One time Arthur won, the next it was Eames and so on. This time they weren’t actually after hurting the other and so it lasted much longer, longer even than Arthur had expected. When they finally decided to stop it was past ten and much of the gym was already empty.

»One more time, so I can end with a win«, Eames suggested laughing, because that’s what he’d said for the past hour. Arthur meant to shoot him an unimpressed annoyed look but felt his mouth curling upwards. To cover it up he shook his head and didn’t reply, just rubbed a hand over his laughing lips and pushed his sweaty hair out of his face.  
When he looked at Eames again, there was a strangely dazed expression like Eames had zoned out while staring at Arthur or something. He cleared his throat awkwardly and pulled off his gloves. »Next time.«  
It took a few seconds but Eames came back and with a shake of his head that reminded Arthur of a wet dog, he grinned and shrugged. »Next time, yeah.«

Together they put the mats back and Eames picked up his t-shirt and shoes on their way to the locker room. He rubbed it over his sweaty hair and threw it carelessly over his shoulder, shoes dangling off the fingers of his other hand. Arthur had already opened his mouth to ask, why Eames had even brought a t-shirt since he wasn’t even going to wear it, but realized what he was about to do in time and shut his mouth again. Eames threw him an inquiring look but didn’t say anything, just walked next to Arthur in silence.  
»You gonna jog back?«, he asked when they had entered the locker room. This time Arthur had brought a small bag with him, just for the gloves and a small towel. He pulled it out and buried his face in it, breathing in the clean, fresh scent and soaking it in his sweat simultaneously.  
»Umph«, he mumbled into the fabric and looked up. »No, I uh … I think I’m gonna walk today. Enough workout for one evening.«  
Eames chuckled lowly and half turned to Arthur, his wonky teeth glinting in the dim light, lips dark in contrast to his slightly flushed face. »You mind waiting a few more minutes, darling? I’ll be with you in a second.«

Eames was gone before Arthur had a chance to reply and he grit his teeth when he realized, he’d been darling-ed again. The teasing hadn’t stopped since their first fight, not really. It had been kind of limited though, to less invasion of his personal space and more quickly whispered filthy stuff, a few glances here and there. But the smirks and smiles thrown at him had seemed a tad more genuine and somehow that had made it easier for Arthur.  
Hearing ‘darling’ now again reminded him that regardless of how strangely at ease he felt while beating Eames up, they weren’t friends. Not even close, Eames knew nothing about Arthur and Arthur wasn’t sure he even wanted to know more about Eames. This … arrangement was all there was ever gonna be.

He kicked his feet out and listened to the shower in the next room, leaning back and closing his eyes, his bag propped up on his lap. When Eames emerged from the showers a minute later his hair was dripping everywhere and the sweater he’d pulled on clung to his damp skin, as well as the trousers. He rubbed the red t-shirt over his hair once again and threw everything into the plastic bag he had with him, then motioned for Arthur to come.  
They walked towards campus in silence for most of the way until Arthur decided to ask at least one of his questions. »Have you fought before? Professionally, I mean.«  
Eames didn’t tense up like Arthur’d almost expected him to, he just shrugged his shoulders and snorted. »Not really. I fought a lot but not professionally – didn’t stop me from kicking your sorry arse though, did it?«  
Arthur chose to ignore that last remark and nodded. »Makes sense, yeah.«

»Excuse me?«, Eames looked at him from the side. »Please tell me you’re joking. I hate to break it to you, darling, but you’re clearly not in the position for condescension here.«  
Okay, what? Arthur looked sideways at Eames, eyebrows raised in a silent question.  
»Well, you didn’t exactly hold back on me there«, Eames explains, hands raised in the air like Arthur should’ve known this and now annoyingly made Eames spell it out for him. »Don’t get me wrong, I’m not belittling your performance and all that, but we’re fairly equal back there. I don’t really get where you got the impression you fought better than me.«  
Oh. Eames’ pride was hurt. Arthur blinked in surprise but couldn’t help the smugness painting a faint smile on his face. »I didn’t hold back, you’re right.«  
Eames snorted and nodded, satisfied with Arthurs answer.  
»But I’m not in perfectly good shape here«, he continued. »I’ve given you many more opportunities to hit me than you took. So either you’ve been going easy on me or you’re not such a great opponent yourself, you’re obviously lacking some technique and training.«

Eames was silent for a moment and Arthur threw another look at him when they approached his dorm. Was Eames even living here? Come to think of, he’d never seen him around  
»I could show you next time«, Arthur offered, not sure if there was gonna be a next time as Eames face was blank but his eyes were stormy.  
»I don’t need your help«, Eames said curtly and halted, his eyes daring Arthur to disagree when he halted as well and turned back towards him.  
»No, I know«, Arthur said shrugging. Eames eyes narrowed in suspicion. »I’m just saying you could be _better_.«

Eames didn’t respond until Arthur left him standing there and went off to his dorm room, where he found Robert asleep on top of his books. He somehow managed to pull Robert up and into his bed before showering and falling asleep himself, exhausted from all the punching and kicking, pulling and pushing Eames.  
A week later Eames was waiting for him on the mats again, not one word spoken but every opening Arthur gave was rewarded with punches and kicks. Half an hour of this and Eames was grinning, sweaty and out of breath but smiling and even laughing when Arthur touched a sore area and made a disgruntled sound.  
»Sorry, darling, I’ll be more careful«, Eames said catching his breath.  
Arthur looked up and let his t-shirt drop from where he’d pulled it up to inspect the bruise forming on his ribs. »Don’t you dare.«

Eames seemed surprised but then a smile spread over his face and he shrugged. »Whatever you want, darling.«  
True to his word, the punches Arthur received after weren’t softer than before but Eames never hit the same spot twice. Arthur didn’t bother showing the same curtesy to him, he took what he could get.

 

Somehow the punching and beating each other up made the rest bearable. Whenever Eames now stepped too close to Arthur, he wasn’t tensing up again, because the proximity was already known, the presence familiar. Hell, Arthur knew how Eames` weight felt on top of him, how his hips felt squeezed between Arthur’s thighs, how wide Eames’ shoulders were under the span of his hands – even how his neck strained when Arthur locked his arm around it from behind and squeezed.  
The teasing words were like something on Arthur’s peripheral vision and sometimes Eames would say something particularly ridiculous, making Arthur smile before he could even register what he was doing.

Slowly the end of the term came closer and Arthur started spending more and more time in the library, less time on jogging or with Ariadne. Sometimes she came with him when he studied but she was more of a study-at-home kind of person. She started bringing food over when he was home and Robert complained about the smell of food everywhere until she shot him a glare and made him thank her instead of whining.  
Arthur saw Eames less and less, which wasn’t unusual because he saw everybody less whenever he started studying in earnest. Even Ariadne’s daydreaming about Yusuf diminished somewhat, even though he sometimes saw them talking and now and again went for a coffee with Yusuf.

The library was Arthur’s space, he loved the endless rows of books and knew exactly where to find what he was looking for even after just one semester here. When he had the time he sometimes just strolled through the corridors flanked by rows of books and looked whatever odd thing he could find. There was books about everything and anything and even if he liked novels just fine, he had a (Ariadne said ‘weird and unnatural’) love for these kinds of books, books with knowledge, divided into order, chapter by chapter.  
Ariadne had laughed many times at him when some moron had taken the book Arthur was in need of, because that apparently made him scowl the ‘pitch black scowl of doom’. Luckily that didn’t happen very often and Arthur could remain at ease in the library, he just felt like he finally was in his element like a fish in the water. Knowledge all around him and silence, that was all he wanted.

Because of his sort of special relationship with the library, a small part of him considered it ‘his’, even though he would _never_ admit to that, it came as no surprise how irritated he was, when one day, directly in his line of sight, there was Eames.  
He had books piled up messily on his desk, the kind Arthur hated with a passion because in those piles usually he found whatever book he was looking for and he couldn’t take it because the pile belonged to someone else, who wasn’t even reading it. Before Eames there was a sheet of paper, white, without anything on it, while he dug noisily through the pens he’d scattered next to it. Arthur felt his frown slip into place but tried to concentrate on his own book on how to establish stability of a building. Two minutes later he looked up in thought and there was Eames again, one pen behind his ear, another held by one hand digging into his lower lip while the left hand was doodling on the paper. The pile of books next to him was apparently forgotten. Arthur frowned again and turned to his right with a huff.  
He was trying to concentrate her for fuck sake, what was Eames doing here anyway? Obviously it wasn’t studying, so was he just bored out of his mind? Was this another step into the ‘let’s annoy Arthur’-direction? He had to know Arthur was there, Eames was placed almost strategically, this couldn’t be a simple coincidence.  
He managed another half an hour, then he gave up, put the books back where they belonged and strode out of the library. Eames turned his head towards him, when he was on his way out, and nodded with a recognizing smile like he’d had no idea he was breaking Arthur’s concentration.

Later Arthur was mad at himself. Eames had just been sitting there, a lot of students did far more annoying things than play with their pens and not doing anything productive. Arthur himself had the habit of balancing on two legs of his chair and he wouldn’t even notice he was doing it if not for the library-lady, who always shot him a glare when he did it.  
Robert wasn’t there when Arthur came back to his room and so he phoned Ariadne and went over to hers when she invited him.  
»What happened to you?«, she asked amused when she opened the door. Arthur had to have still the same sour expression on his face he’d seen earlier in the bathroom mirror. »Someone getting on your nerves? Again?«  
»No. Yes. Kind of.« Arthur groaned and kicked off his shoes, falling backwards onto her small couch and hitting his head on the wall behind. A few seconds later came the answering knock from the next room and Ariadne giggled while Arthur rubbed the back of his head. »Dunno, I think it’s mire myself to be honest.«  
»So, now you’ve managed to get so easily annoyed that you yourself are annoying to you?«, Ariadne said, half disbelieving, half amused still.  
»I just … I don’t want him to be able to annoy me so much, you know?«, Arthur complained scowling at his knees. »I want him to stop, I want him to be completely irrelevant to me so I don’t even notice his fucking annoying presence anymore.«  
»I thought you guys were on better terms as of lately?«, Ariadne asked and sat on her bed, laptop pushed aside and a cup of coffee in hand. »This beating up thing seemed like some strange sort of couple therapy for you.«  
God, how Arthur wanted coffee, too! »Not a couple«, he grumbled and threw one of the cushions at her. She squeaked and managed to duck and not spill her coffee everywhere. »Arthur!«

»One sip?«, he asked and tried for a sweet smile. He didn’t know how to be sweet, he knew how to be collected and cool, he knew _perfectly_ how to be annoyed, but sweet had never been anything he’d wanted to be.  
»One«, she emphasized and handed him her coffee.  
He sighed in relief and drank the steaming hot caffeine, sinking lower into the couch until he was slumped with his arms and legs everywhere all over it. In the end he drank almost all the coffee and Ariadne had to make a new one, told him about the party Yusuf had asked her to accompany him to after the tests were all done, and then they popped a DVD in and watched some stupid rom-com with an English actor whose accent made Arthur scowl and the back of his neck prickle every time he opened his mouth.

The next time Eames was in the library, Arthur would just have to sit somewhere he couldn’t get distracted. Maybe there wouldn’t even be a next time, maybe this was the extend of Eames’ willingness to study, Arthur wouldn’t be surprised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Say hi on tumblr! http://dont-kill-my-darling.tumblr.com/
> 
> Disclaimer: Inception and its characters aren't mine


	4. Bad Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long, I had a few problems with writing this but at least it turned out pretty long, so there's that.  
> Thanks for commenting, I hope you like this chapter! Rating's now up and ... yeah I hope you like it ^^
> 
> Comments are always appreciated :)
> 
> Chapter Title: Bad Day - Daniel Powter

\- **Eames** –

Thing was, Eames loved Prof Cobb’s art class. He really did, it was fun (most times) and interesting and she actually made him do something instead of letting him sit bored in her class and doodle some nonsense. She didn’t praise him enough though, just watched him work with critically lifted eyebrows and otherwise a blank expression. He’d like it if she’d be a little more generous with her approval. Eames only got rewarded when he got back the results, seeing he got good grades – what set Prof Cobb apart from everyone else was that she noticed almost right away that Eames couldn’t care less about his grades as long as he passed. Grades had never helped him in all his life and he wasn’t going to start relying on them now. She seemed to know this somehow and there were a few subtle changes in her behaviour, Eames didn’t even notice at first.  
It was only when he caught himself waiting for her to smile that he knew something had changed. His grades now were accompanied by an approving nod, on very few occasions there was even a smile and he unconsciously started to look out for it, worked until she granted him another one. Even if he knew what she was doing he couldn’t help it, Eames had always been a sucker for approval. His sister had sometimes called it his “mommy-complex”, him always looking for approval and if he didn’t get it he at least wanted attention, even the wrong kind of attention would do.

It worked the other way around as well of course, a frown from Mallorie Cobb was as effective a scolding as the longest speech of ‘I’m so disappointed’ Eames had ever had to endure. Those frowns varied from ‘you didn’t attend last week, you lazy student’ to ‘why are you even here if you’re only disturbing my class’ and Eames didn’t like any of them. This was also why he mostly _did_ attend to her classes, to avoid those frowns.  
Last week he had almost not come, he had been with Yusuf the night before and was still feeling slightly drunk but he went to her class anyway. In a few weeks exams started and Eames had done his usual studying – meaning he’d put the books within arm’s reach and found a thousand better things to occupy himself with. For his acting exams he’d have to perform in this year’s play. At first it had been _Coriolanus_ , which would’ve been awesome in Eames’ opinion at least. But then some knobhead had whined about romans being boring and the play not being classical enough to draw audiences in. It was Shakespeare for fuck sakes, how could that be any more classical? So there had been some debates and they’d decided on _Romeo and Juliet_ which was so boring, Eames had let out an unintentionally loud snort at the announcement. Not that it wasn’t a good play, because it was, but much more mainstream-ness could not have been achieved had they chosen any other play. At the very least Eames had gotten the role he’d been auditioning for and not some idiot with three lines to say and then die. His character did die, of course, but then only very few and very boring characters didn’t die when it came to Shakespeare.

Most classes bored the shit out of him but when exams came up, Eames knew he had to attend at least some of them to pass. Except for the rehearsals and Prof Cobb’s art class he wasn’t attending any classes regularly. This gave him a lot of free time obviously and now and again he would take a side job to be able to afford his flat for another few months. He had planned it out rather badly this time, normally during this time of the semester he wouldn’t take any job in favour of studying but he didn’t have enough money for next month’s rent and the earlier he got the money the better.  
Against his better judgement he took a job and it paid great and went well. For the most part. The guy supposed to alarm them when the guard was within earshot hadn’t been paying attention though, and Eames had to have a painfully awkward, very short conversation with the man before he just decided punching him in the face would be safer than listening to Eames spilling bullshit. The result was an aching jaw and half his face swollen and red, so he decided to classify himself as ‘sick’ and therefore he was allowed to stay home, sleep, feel sorry for himself and miss his art class as well as one of the rehearsals.  
He even managed to order a few books he had to read on background for the upcoming tests and put another bag of frozen peas on his swollen face. The problem with the cooling was though, that he couldn’t fall asleep with half his face frozen, so he gave up after half an hour. Maybe he should’ve attended today’s classes after all, he hadn’t gotten much more sleep than usual anyway.

Yusuf texted around noon, asking if he wanted to come over, a class of his had been cancelled for today and he had some free time on his hands. Eames groaned, he would’ve liked nothing better than a lazy (and possibly filled with weed and joints and shitty movies) afternoon at Yusuf’s, even if his room sometimes smelled of sulphur. Under normal circumstances. Yusuf wasn’t too fond of Eames’ jobs on the side, he didn’t try and stop him but he always got moody when Eames came home with another injury. He had been totally okay with it _until_ Eames one time had had an encounter with a knife – it had only been a flesh wound and after bandaging it up expertly it didn’t even bleed that much, but since then Yusuf urged him to find better people to work with.  
»Not those assholes, who’re in it solely for their money and don’t care about whom else comes out of the job okay«, he’d said and to this day Yusuf would always have the same pinched look on his face when he saw Eames injured after one of his jobs. Which was a little hypocritical of him, Eames thought, it wasn’t like Yusuf turned down opportunities to get his hands on money just because it was an illegal sort of job.  
So, Eames texted Yusuf back he was busy but how about the weekend? Until then the swelling would be mostly gone; he was just lucky, he didn’t have a black eye because that would take forever to go away. A suspicious silence followed for a few minutes and Eames began to scold himself for saying he was ‘busy’ – because really, when was he ever honestly busy? Forging stolen art-work obviously didn’t count as an occupation. When after half an hour a response came it was a simple ‘K. till the weekend then’.

Eames spent the rest of the day doodling some sketches for Prof Cobb’s class next week, shitty movies flickering over the TV-screen in the background, and reading his lines for the play a few times, trying different versions. He could turn it into a comedic performance as well as a dramatic one. This was the thing with Shakespeare plays, you could play it like a parody (which Eames always preferred when it came to _Romeo and Juliet_ ) or like a tragedy. It depended on what the director felt the play should be and it was a shame this director sucked so much at his job already – at least in Eames’ opinion he did – and now he wouldn’t even make the play fun but just plain boring. Maybe Eames would have to be the comic relief in all the drama, maybe he wouldn’t follow the directions given to him _to the t_ once opening night arrived.

It was already dark outside and Eames was busy trying to decide between going out and getting some real food or just ordering pizza, when someone unexpectedly rang the doorbell. He frowned and sceptically asked into the speaker: »Who’s that?« He didn’t get too many visitors and if it was Yusuf he would have to make up some excuse as to why he couldn’t come up.  
A dry clicking sound and then a mechanical sounding voice. »It’s Arthur. Let me up.«  
Eames was too surprised to do anything but push the buzzer for the door. Only when he reached for the door handle to open it for Arthur he realized he was only wearing pyjama pants with holes and an old dirty t-shirt. He was also pretty sure he was smelling too, um, fresh. _Well, too late now_ , he decided with a shrug and pulled open the door. Arthur wasn’t here to determine him suitable for courting or any of that ridiculous bullshit, was he?

The coat Arthur wore was black with shiny buttons and deep pockets. Slung over his shoulder was a bag and his nose was a little red from the cold outside. In contrast to his otherwise pale face even his cheeks seemed a bit rosy and there was a grey beanie pulled over his dark mop of hair. Eames had never seen anything more adorable.  
»Well well, what brings you to my humble home?«, he asked grinning and leaned against the doorframe, belatedly remembering his dully aching jaw when he moved his face.  
»Professor Cobb told me to give this to you«, Arthur said, passively as ever, and pulled a folder out of his bag. It looked a little shabby, granted, but only because Eames had used it time and time again for his homework, so that wasn’t really a surprise.  
»Why thank you, darling«, he purred, though trying hard now not to move the muscles of his face too much. Arthur pushed the folder into his hands and lifted one of his ridiculously expressive eyebrows. »Coming all this way like a good boy, because the Prof told you so.«  
»Well … Nash had something ‘really important’ to do and Ariane bailed on me, so there was really no other option. Trust me, I tried, but you don’t exactly have a load of friends«, Arthur retorted dryly. His eyes narrowed almost unnoticeably and Eames could tell the exact moment he zeroed in on the large bruise on his jaw. He angled himself a little better so Arthur didn’t get more than a glimpse and those dark eyes snapped up again, now both eyebrows raised. »Since you were obviously _sick_ and in no condition whatsoever to go to class yourself, she said you’d need this to finish your final project. Though I doubt you needed it this early, I bet two days before the deadline would’ve done, huh? It’s not like you’d start working on it before it’s, like, overdue…«  
Eames pouted and sighed dramatically. »You always think so badly of me, darling. You would be surprised how much I actually _do_ study – I have even been to the library.«  
»I know«, came the mumbled, far too quick response and for a short moment Arthur looked panicked like he’d just given away some terribly important secret. The next second his face was blank again and all the curious staring wouldn’t tell Eames what that had all been about, he knew from experience so he didn’t even try.  
»Oh right, you saw me!«, he exclaimed overly happy and beamed. »Maybe next time we can study together, the library is such an alluring place after all. I really don’t think I’ll be able to stay away.«

Arthur’s expression stayed blank, he just blinked completely unimpressed and waited for Eames to continue spilling bullshit in order to distract him from the huge bruise in his face. Or at least that’s what Eames thought Arthur was doing, he couldn’t be sure with that face giving nothing away.  
»Well, thanks anyway for the … thing«, he gesturing with the folder and made to close the door, when Arthur spoke up again.  
»You training with someone exceptionally stupid?« Arthur’s eyes were fixed on his jaw again, it seemed Eames’ attempt of distraction hadn’t worked. Under other circumstances Eames gladly would’ve taken this as some sort of sign of Arthur warming up to him, and giving him the attention he deserved, but like this he’d prefer it by far if Arthur would just ignore him like he’d done before if he had to be honest.  
»Why?«, was the only reply he could think of and added a teasing quirk of his lips. »Are you jealous, dear Arthur?«  
Arthur’s eyebrows sank in irritation and his lips pressed into a thin line, obviously annoyed once again. Eames would estimate the percentage of Arthur’s life that was spent in annoyance at roughly seventy-five percent. Well, if that wasn’t an unpleasant way of living, that guy really ought to have more fun.  
»I’m just wondering whom you’d let touch your oh-so-pretty face.« Arthur’s voice was positively biting by now even though his face stayed stonily expressionless.  
»Aww, you think I’m pretty?«, Eames cooed and fluttered his lashes.  
Arthur’s sigh was exasperated enough to make the _why did I even bother?_ loud and clear without him needing to say it out loud. »No. _You_ think you’re pretty. And everyone can tell. Everyone.«  
Eames generously brushed over that comment and tilted his head so he could pout and watch Arthur through his lashes at the same time. Maybe he could embarrass Arthur enough to make him forget about his original question. »Not even a little bit? I’m hurt.«

Arthur rolled his eyes and turned around, mumbling something grumpily to himself, and soon the echo of his steps on the stairs was gone. But Eames had definitely seen the blush rising in his already rosy cheeks. Humming to himself he closed the door and flung the folder on the couch.  
He would be lazy tonight, he decided. A pizza would do – and then he could concentrate over a cup of tea on how to make Arthur blush this prettily again.

 

**\- Arthur -**

It was all Ariadne’s fault. She knew he would never disobey Professor Cobb’s request (orders) and she had bailed on him when he’d suggested she bring the damned folder to Eames.  
»I already found out his address for you, I’m not gonna do a thing more for you with you being this ungrateful«, she’d stated while trying not to giggle too hard about the reappearance of ‘the pitch black scowl of doom’.  
»I’m glad my misery is so amusing to you«, Arthur had grumbled. It wasn’t even as if her finding out Eames’ address had taken actual work or anything. Quite the contrary actually, it had given her a great excuse to call Yusuf.  
Why there was still need for excuses at this stage Arthur didn’t know, but apparently that’s how it was at the moment and it was more likely for Eames to stop smoking than Arthur changing Ariadne’s mind on anything.

That was how he ended up in the bus headed to Eames’ stop and found himself inspecting the folder a little more closely. It looked hideous, with coffee-stains (or was it tea?), something that looked like it had once been some sort of salad-sauce or maybe mayonnaise, with frayed edges and all in all looking very much over-used. What was far more interesting though, was what was inside. It had been an exercise Professor Cobb had given them a few weeks ago. They’d been tasked to do a rough sketch on how they saw society in any way they wanted. Arthur had struggled for an eternity, he didn’t need ‘any way he wanted’, he needed rules and guidelines and information and background so he could deliver good work. It was like Professor Cobb knew this and was purposefully trying to make him cry – in an elegant, classy and very French way, of course. In the end he’d just opted for sketching a beast with thousands of heads to symbolize how the word ‘society’ combined thousands over thousands of people and therefore ‘society’ had thousands over thousands of faces, beautiful and ugly, kind and spiteful, friendly and vengeful. He’d just been unable to come up with anything more imaginative.  
Eames though … when Arthur opened the folder curiously, he saw Eames had drawn the upper half of a person, with just the right amount of detail to be awed by the skill but not distracted from the work itself. They weren’t male or female, some kind of garment had been drawn, falling loosely over their form and the fine hair that was just shy of falling on the person’s shoulders, wasn’t revealing the gender either. A jaw and the outlines of a face, contours of lips and even the beginnings of a nose could be seen but beneath the fine eyebrows there was nothing. The person had no eyes and the rest of his face didn’t show any emotion as well. Instead of eyes Eames had rubbed white chalk over the area, the white dripping and splattering over the rest of the face like old maps of the world with all those white unknown spots. There was another sketch of the same drawing but in colour and it seemed almost like someone had simply scraped and ripped the colour off the face where eyes should have been. This was roughly how the final product was supposed to look, Arthur guessed.

Embarrassingly he was so transfixed, he almost missed his bus stop. It was still a walk of a few minutes to the building Eames lived in, so his nose was frozen by the time he found it. Eames looked a right thug when he opened the door, his t-shirt looked like it hadn’t been washed for _months_ and his pants were full of holes. Maybe from cigarettes? It seemed quite plausible.  
And then there was that angry red bruise on Eames jaw. It was all swollen up, flaming red, and Arthur could almost feel the pulsating pain himself just by looking at it. Had that person hit Eames any harder there would’ve been quite the possibility of Eames’ jaw being broken, actually.  
Something must’ve shown on his face because Eames dodged his questions with witty, teasing remarks and shot him _that_ look again, so Arthur just gave up. It wasn’t his job to keep Eames from getting his face beaten up, after all. What did he care? Why bother when it only resulted in being made fun of.

On the ride home he promised himself to tell Professor Cobb to bring the next fucking folder Eames would _absolutely_ need herself. And then he tried not to think of the way the word ‘alluring’ had sounded in that accent – and what kind of images it provoked in combination with the library. _Eames pressed against a shelf of books, mouth hanging open as his breath escaped him in heavy pants … Eames pressing Arthur to the shelf, hands rough and solid and warm, full lips within reach, spiky hair, twinkling eyes and all …_  
Arthur wasn’t able to set a foot into the library for two days after this incident.

Ariadne dragged him along on Saturday to some event Yusuf had told her about (ignoring his protests he had to study) mostly by convincing Robert to come too, who in turn simply threw clothes in Arthur’s face when he opened his mouth to protest again and ordered him to ‘quit whining and make yourself pretty, we’re going out’. Sometimes Robert really was a spoilt brat.  
They had to get to this ‘event’ (party) by taxi but Ariadne had assured them, Yusuf would drive them home like he’d promised her. Arthur wasn’t quite sure if Yusuf knew he was in for driving all of them back home and not just Ariadne, but he wasn’t going to bring that up now. Hopefully tonight they would finally do more than pine for each other from a distance of a few fucking feet, or Arthur would have to knock their heads together.  
There was loud music coming from the house when they got out of the taxi and the beats vibrated through Arthur’s body already from this distance. When they opened the door after nobody had answered, a swaying figure stumbled by them, mumbled »’scuse me« and puked right into the flowerpot next to the doorstep.

»Classic«, Arthur said dryly and Ariadne rolled her eyes at him. He just knew tonight wouldn’t end well, only the ‘how’ wasn’t clear yet. Inside were more intoxicated people, swaying on their feet and jumping to the beat. He held his distance to everyone who seemed too likely to throw up all over him and decided he wasn’t drunk enough for this kind of party, when everything stank of sweat and alcohol and dirt. Not that he was really surprised, Yusuf seemed like the kind of guy to go to parties and watch all these roaring drunk people with that strange fascination some people had when watching a car-crash.  
Arthur also knew what he was like when he got drunk, so that wasn’t an option, no matter how much better he’d feel. He’d just have to find middle ground, maybe one shot and for the rest of the evening nursing one bottle of beer, just to endure this long enough to satisfy Ariadne.

Robert was out of sight already and Ariadne squealed into his ear when she caught sight of Yusuf. Pulling him (not very gently) with her, she made her way through disgustingly drunk, sweaty, stinky people until they reached Yusuf, who was sat on a sofa next to a girl and two guys. Arthur was impressed, it seemed like they were actually having a conversation over the too loud, too hard beat. When Yusuf saw Ariadne, he beamed at her and stood to hug her in greeting. _God_ , even the hugging pissed Arthur off, why couldn’t they just get on with it and fuck already?  
He got the same treatment, a hug he reciprocated stiffly and patted Yusuf awkwardly on the back, then they were introduced to Yusuf’s friends, Chris, Leila and Jo. Arthur nodded politely and filed their names away in the off case he would ever meet them again. From somewhere they produced plastic cups and Arthur got the shot he needed. Only then did he find himself a beer and, true to his plan, seated himself on the windowsill next to the sofa, listening with one ear to the conversation between Yusuf, his friends and Ariadne, and nursed his beer.

Most of the faces in the crowd were familiar, from campus or even classes but he knew very few by name and even fewer he’d ever spoken a word to. They were all grinding against each other in one disgusting, sweaty mass, laughing and drinking, and Arthur understood part of it. They just wanted to have fun, which was completely understandable of course. What he didn’t understand was, what exactly was so ‘fun’ about touching strangers, smelling sweat and alcohol, being too drunk to really determine if they wanted to get into their partner’s pants or rather not, and then waking up with a raging hangover and disappointed or ashamed about whom they’d ended up with in bed.  
Maybe he’d learn what this was all about someday; when he was younger he used to believe, it would come to him in time, would make sense once he was older. But that was years back and it still seemed nothing more than gross very undesirable to him. He’d had his fair share of drunken fumbling, dancing and kissing, sure, he had tried to do what everyone was doing. But there had just always been a part of his brain saying _you don’t really want that one, you don’t know him and he tastes like shit, his hands feel clammy and awkward, if you were sober you’d never allow this.._. That would’ve been okay, annoying but okay. But whenever he’d tried to shut the voice up, tried to drink it away and drown it, he was lost. Without it there was nothing holding him back, true, but there was also nothing to support him and tell him something was wrong. Arthur’d found he much preferred being able to use his brain correctly to giving and receiving blowjobs in dorm-room-bathrooms and waking up without remembering the face matching that terrible taste in his mouth. He’d just been lucky blowjobs had been the farthest those encounters had gone.

He’d been sitting on the windowsill for maybe half an hour when he heard the name »Eames« an automatically, involuntarily perked up. The girl, Leila, was telling Ariadne something, laughing and gesturing with her hands while Yusuf seemed like he’d heard the story a hundred times and Chris and Jo sometimes added something Leila forgot to tell.  
» … he was always the best at it y’know. Had been forging his father’s signings for years before we found out he wasn’t even living with his parents anymore«, Leila just told Ariadne and shook her head, an impressed smile playing on her lips. »Him and his sister had rented a flat two years before they were even legally allowed to rent one. She was sixteen, Eames was fourteen at the time, and he’d played their landlady like a pro.«  
»Fucking talented bastard«, Jo said in a kind-of-toast and lifted his beer.  
»You see, the landlady had seen their father once and they’d given her Eames’ phone number. From then on whenever she called, Eames would answer the phone and imitate his voice, telling her he was on business trips and that sort of thing to explain why she hadn’t seen him for months and his kids apparently living on their own. All the papers were signed by Eames, too, just in case someone would ever compare the papers with his father’s signing«, Leila continued. »They’d chosen an old, unsuspicious landlady of course, so it was ‘easy’ – his words, not mine – but still. Who does that when they’re fourteen?«  
This story seemed like something Eames would tell, Arthur thought. A story, nothing more, only to amuse himself, with whom would believe it. There was no way to tell if it was nothing more than a story, of course, but Arthur wouldn’t _totally_ rule out the possibility of it being true.  
»Of course, we didn’t find out until three years later when his sister was old enough to rent the flat herself«, Chris chimed in, his feet on the coffee table and a paper cup in his lap. »We only found out about his … talents, when he stole the watch off of some asshole’s wrist right before us.«  
Jo nodded with a grin and Yusuf shook his head. »He never did anything legal in his whole life, did he?«  
Leila snorted and shrugged. »Dunno. He’s just like that, he hasn’t chosen this set of skills, after all. That kind of stuff just comes natural to him, I guess.« Arthur hid his snort in his beer bottle.

So this was Eames’ pack, these people had apparently known Eames for quite some time. To Arthur Eames still didn’t seem like their real friend though, he’d never seen or heard of them before and for all he knew a friendship needed at least some kind of contact. Maybe they corresponded in other ways, ways he didn’t see, but Arthur doubted it. They seemed more like acquaintances, some kids whom Eames kept around to admire him whenever he felt like it.  
»There’s a lot of things that come to Eames«, Jo commented waggling his eyebrows and lifting his beer to his lips.  
Leila blushed and flipped him off. »Shut up, I’m still angry about that.«  
»Aww, he played you fair and square«, Chris said and ducked behind his plastic cup when she kicked him in the shin.  
»What’d he do?«, Ariadne asked curiously and Arthur could’ve kissed her for not making him ask that same question.  
»These idiots had a bet going«, Leila scowled at the two guys which had the only effect of them curling up together and laughing even harder. »Eames was great at … let’s call it _distracting_ people, so he could steal from them anything he wanted. And these two bet Eames a hundred fucking dollars, he couldn’t steal anything from me – because they’ve tried and they never could and just love to piss me off.«  
»But we’re amateurs!«, Jo defended himself, still giggling drunkenly. »He’s the professional.«  
»So, what happened?«, Ariadne asked.  
Leila sighed and if Arthur wasn’t mistaken she blushed a little. »Well … he succeeded.«  
»He got her to make out with him and stole _both_ her earrings, that’s how _good_ he is«, Chris clarified snorting and threw his empty cup at Leila when she kicked him again. »Ouch, stop that.«  
»Wimp.«

»A hundred bucks?«, Arthur asked disbelievingly. »Do you guys have too much money or why would you spend that much money on such a stupid thing?«  
»Eames wouldn’t do it for less«, Jo explained shrugging, as if that was a legitimate reason for paying someone to steal from their friend in a lame ass bet.  
»Plus, he knew we had the money, we’d just gotten our payment from the store we were working in back then«, Chris said gravely and pouted a little, like he was still offended by it. »I never thought he’d really demand the money – he got to make out with her and all! And then he wants payment for it?«  
»Who got to make out with whom?«, came suddenly a very familiar voice and Arthur almost rolled his eyes. Of course, where Yusuf was Eames couldn’t be far off, he should’ve known. At least when there was alcohol involved.  
Eames appeared with a wide grin and flopped down next to Leila, a glass in his hand (how’d he come by that? Why didn’t he have the same plastic cups everyone else had?), filled with some clear liquid, Arthur doubted was water. The bruise on his jaw was only faintly visible anymore, a little reddish, but in this bad lighting nobody who didn’t know would see. Blue eyes crinkled, Eames looked around and smoothed down a truly hideous shirt over a pair of ripped jeans and for some reason he was only wearing socks. Maybe this was a fetish of him, walking around without shoes – something British? Arthur had no idea what reason there could be to not wear shoes. Especially in surroundings like these, the floor was sticky, dirty, and littered with shards of splintered glass.  
»Oh, look at you«, Eames cooed before anyone could answer his question and grinned at Ariadne. There wasn’t enough room for all of them, so Ariadne had ended up half in Yusuf’s lap – not that either one looked like they wanted to complain. »All cosy and cuddly together, aren’t you? _Adorable_.«  
Yusuf scowled.  
»And there of course is Arthur«, Eames went on and his gaze shifted over to Arthur sitting on the windowsill. It felt much more uncomfortable under Eames’ scrutinizing eyes than just a minute ago. He wasn’t sure if Eames was drunk, it was very likely but his gaze seemed somehow too sharp and focused for that. »Listening, watching, isolated … still the stick-in-the-mud, no matter how much I try.«

Arthur clamped his mouth shut and glowered back at him, he would not reply to that. Eames smirked unconcerned and took a gulp from the clear liquid in his glass, then scrunched up his face. Definitely alcohol.  
»Should I bet, you can’t get him to loosen up?«, Jo suggested with a cheeky wink and laughed when Leila kicked Chris again, because she couldn’t reach Jo. »You always win bets, after all.«  
Eames still didn’t look away from Arthur, full lips curled into a knowing smirk as if he could hear what Arthur was thinking. Arthur glared back. Eames gave a dramatic sigh and shook his head slowly. »I doubt it would work, Arthur here has a very strong character, he would never do what I would like him to. Not without a reason he deems appropriate.«  
Arthur couldn’t decide if Eames was trying to insult him and make him mad, or if that was actually a cleverly disguised compliment. Either way, Eames had succeeded once again in making his hackles rise and now everything he could think of was punching that smug look off his face or at least make him shut up. Experience had sadly taught him this was almost impossible to accomplish – plus there was that small and very tiny part of him that liked Eames’ teasing, that wanted to respond, which only made Arthur angrier at himself.

Maybe it was the shot from before, maybe the beer, maybe his foul mood, or just a mixture of it all that made him smile serenely and stand up from his perfectly comfortable spot on the windowsill, Eames had now succeeded in driving him away from. He let the bottle dangle from his fingers after he took one last swing and looked down at Eames who had one eyebrow lifted, his mouth still half a grin although Arthur could see uncertainty flicker over his face. He’d been pushing Arthur constantly for _weeks_ now, Arthur thought it was perfectly understandable if he pushed back for once. Just a little.  
»Arthur…«, Ariadne started, almost a warning, the same uncertainty in her voice he could see in Eames eyes. But she didn’t continue, either she thought he deserved to fire back, too, or she didn’t know how to plead with him not to kill Eames.  
Ignoring her and the curious look Leila threw him from right next to Eames, Arthur bent down until he could reach the ear farther away from her. His lips grazed the shell and he could actually see goose bumps rise upon Eames’ neck.  
»Fuck you very much«, he said as neutrally one could speak such words and dropped the bottle of beer into Eames’ lap before standing straight again and walked past. »You better see Ariadne safely home later«, he threw over his shoulder, just in time to catch the resigned look she threw him. She knew this was it, Arthur’d had enough after indulging her and coming to the party, and now Eames being annoying and making his brain go fuzzy in confusion. Sometimes they were almost … companionable. And then Eames was rude again and teased the hell out of Arthur as if his life depended on it. Only tonight Arthur didn’t feel like playing Eames’ little plaything to pass the time, tonight Arthur just wanted peace and quiet. Not this.

»See you on Monday then«, Yusuf replied and shot a murderous look at Eames, whose face was scrunched in discomfort from when the bottle had dropped quite hard in his lap, but Arthur felt no compassion. Sooner or later he had to push back, couldn’t let Eames just do whatever he pleased.  
Arthur gave a non-committal wave over his shoulder and made his way back through the crowd. He’d have to call another taxi which was annoying but it still seemed like a much better option than staying here and finding out what drunk-Eames was in comparison to sober-Eames. Well … mostly sober, Arthur couldn’t be sure whether or not Eames had been sober every time he’d met him. There’d have had to be signs if he’d been high or drunk or any of that, but then again Eames was an actor so maybe Arthur wouldn’t have noticed at all.

He had to use the loo before he left and started walking through the coolness of the night outside and find a taxi. The mere thought of what would await him in the bathroom almost made him turn around when he found the door marked ‘toillet’ down a corridor vibrating with the beat from the hall. When he opened the door it wasn’t that bad, though. There was a condom next to the bin and the floor was dirty from all the seemingly very muddy shoes walking/stumbled in and out, but at least it didn’t stink of vomit (yet). Arthur washed his hands thoroughly after and pushed wet fingers through his hair so it wouldn’t curl, but only succeeded in slicking it back, it still looked wavy. At least there were no curls falling into his face and making him look like fifteen anymore.  
He shrugged and smoothed out the sweatshirt he was wearing on top of his shirt, pushed the parts that hung over his pants inside again and only when he deemed himself appropriate in the mirror did he step out of the door. He had always felt like his appearance was his armour against the world, no matter what, as long as nobody could see him crumbling inside and he looked perfectly put together on the outside, it was okay to fall apart.

He was almost at the end of the corridor leading to the main hall, beats pulsating through the walls and making his temples ache, when someone caught his wrist in a tight grip and pulled him back and against the wall. The next moment he was looking into the face of a pretty pissed off Eames, alcohol lightly detectable on his breath when it brushed over Arthur’s face, but his eyes fixated perfectly still on Arthur’s dark ones.  
»What the fuck?«, Arthur demanded and struggled to get his hand free and push Eames out of his personal space at the same time.  
Eames didn’t move an inch. »Tell me something, Arthur – can’t you take _one fucking joke?_ «  
Arthur narrowed his eyes and stopped the useless pulling at Eames fingers encircling his wrist. It was no use, Eames was and always would be stronger than him. »As a matter of fact I can. And I _have_ for the past weeks, I have taken everything you bastard threw at me! It’s not my fault your ‘jokes’ are absolutely not funny.«  
»That wasn’t – «, Eames started but Arthur wouldn’t have it, not this time. He’d gone after Arthur when he was clearly not in the mood for his stupid little games, now it was Arthur’s turn.  
»No, now _you_ tell me something«, he roused and bored his finger into Eames broad chest. »What is it exactly, you want? Because I have no intention of playing your idiotic games anymore, I’ve had it with you. If there’s something other than annoying me that you want from me, feel free to tell me, but … this looks like nothing more than me being a nice little distraction to pass the time of your incredibly boring life.«

Eames opened his mouth, no sound coming out, and closed it again, only to repeat the motion another two, three, four more times.  
»Right«, Arthur said – somewhat triumphantly granted, but with good reason – and pushed against Eames’ chest again so he’d let him finally leave this stupid place.  
Eames’ look darkened again and this time his voice sounded outright dangerous, his grip locking around Arthur’s wrist more firmly and the other hand coming up to press into the wall right above Arthur’s shoulder. He was effectively caging Arthur right there in the middle of a dimly lit, sleazy hallway on a house party full of people drunk off their faces. Perfect.  
»You’re so uptight, you can’t even relax the tiniest bit, huh?«, Eames said, his voice grumbling low in his chest. »And here I thought, you weren’t a robot after all when I saw you there perched on that stupid windowsill like a watchdog. Jesus, you even had a beer and all.«  
Arthur would’ve ignored that comment wholly if it hadn’t been for the pitying laugh that accompanied it, like Eames was honestly sorry for Arthur not having fun in his life.  
»Fuck you, I was having fun until you came along with your childish jokes and stupid face and … everything!«, Arthur hit Eames’ shoulder with his free hand at every (admittedly not very eloquent) insult and scowled at said stupid face as best he could. He wanted nothing more than flee Eames’ too close presence, the heat of his body slowly seeping into Arthur’s, and he was starting to genuinely struggle with ignoring the way Eames’ thighs brushed against his every other breath. But he was pinned down, Eames’ grip unrelenting and strong. Somehow all the techniques for freeing himself from this position seemed to have fled his mind, which only made him push against Eames’ chest a few more times and grunt in frustration when he wouldn’t move.

»Really?«, Eames’ asked and the laughter was clear in his voice even though his face didn’t show even the hint of a smile. »You were having fun over there? All by yourself, broody and having nobody to scowl at than your sad, lonely beer bottle?«  
Arthur gritted his teeth and had to stop himself from doing something childish like head-butting Eames just to shut him up. He wished he still had that bottle to smash it over Eames’ head … wow, he really shouldn’t have mixed the shot into that beer. Normally he was far less ready to bodily hurt him and just stayed to imagining it. »Leave me alone, Eames«, he sighed and leaned against the wall behind him, giving up altogether to push him out of the way. Eames sometimes reminded him of a natural force, knowing he could do nothing more than sit it out.  
»Do you even know how to have fun, darling?«, Eames asked, his voice now strangely soft like he was talking to a child. Arthur frowned warningly and flexed the arm Eames had pinned to the wall next to him, forming a fist and loosening it again. »I could help you with that, y’know. I’m kind of an expert in ‘having fun’, as it happens.«  
Fun. Of course.  
»Oh, I bet«, Arthur murmured sarcastically and tried to pry his eyes away from the black ink-swirls peeking out from the collar of this outstandingly tasteless shirt. That was all Eames was about – fun. Arthur had known from the beginning, ‘having fun’ with Eames would be easy. But he’d also known, it wasn’t for him. He wasn’t the casual-fling-type, no matter how much he tried to distance himself from everything, he was very quick with the ‘mothering’, how Ariadne called it. He just felt the need to look after the people he’d gotten to know better (and he liked), so everything Arthur’d done up until now had been with someone he’d met the same night for the first time and wouldn’t come across in the future. ‘Fun’ with Eames would be no good, he knew him too well already, had noticed little things like the way Eames’ eyes would drift far away in a conversation he wasn’t involved in, or the fact that he was hiding something. He didn’t have to be reminded of the bruise on Eames’ jaw to know that.  
»Your condescension, as always, is much appreciated, Arthur, thank you«, Eames replied, half amused, and half offended. Arthur hadn’t even known one could feel those two emotions at a time…  
He scowled defiantly, he wouldn’t take it back or say he hadn’t meant it like that – because he had. Eames’ smirk didn’t falter, instead he leaned in even closer and Arthur was almost sure he could taste his breath on his tongue, now. Grey-bluish eyes flickered down to Arthur’s mouth and he froze in place, realizing what was about to happen only seconds before it did.

Eames’ lips were unbelievably plush and soft as they moulded against Arthurs thinner ones, and he gasped in surprise at the dry, warm pressure. He hadn’t expected it to be like this … actually, he hadn’t expected it at all. The hand holding his wrist tightened its grip for a second as if Eames expected him to pull away. As he should. But there was nowhere to go, Arthur was already pressed against the wall with no space left to move, also, his brain seemed to have been wiped blank and he couldn’t remember how to move. Eames’ eyes stared right back into his own shock-widened ones when he started to move his lips. Only a little at first, lips brushing over lips, then firmer when Arthur still didn’t pull away. Lips already parted from his earlier gasp, it didn’t take much work to coax Arthur’s mouth open and then there was a hot, slick tongue tracing the seam of his lips.  
This time when his hand flexed, he balled it to a fist, his eyes falling closed the same instant his mouth gave way. His brain was fuzzy, thoughts swimming aimlessly around, not even one comprehensible to Arthur – not with Eames’ mouth sucking lightly on his lower lip, not with a strong, muscled thigh pushing in between his, not with a hand sliding from his shoulder, over his neck and then fisting in his hair, and certainly not with raspy breaths panted into his open mouth. The thigh rode up and pressed in between his parted legs, delicious friction where his blood was steadily rushing, leaving him light-headed, and he was sure Eames could feel the outline of his hardening cock against his thigh. He guessed that was the reason for the triumphant grin Eames mouth formed pressed against his own.  
He couldn’t think, Eames seemed to be everywhere, hands, lips, thigh, breath … It took an embarrassingly long time for Arthur to realize Eames had released his wrist. His already free hand was still on Eames’ chest where he’d pushed ineffectively against him, only now it was fisted in the ugly patterned fabric like it was unsure if it wanted to pull Eames in or push him away once again. When there was suddenly a broad, hot palm tugging at his shirt, Arthur jerked in surprise and his now free hand flew up to grab Eames by the waist, fingers digging in and making Eames hiss into his mouth. But his fingers didn’t stop pulling and tugging at Arthur’s clothing until it found bare skin and now it was Arthur’s turn to suck in sharp breaths, his eyes opening again when he tore free of Eames’ mouth. His skin felt too tight, too hot, and prickly under Eames’ searing hot palm pressing against his hip-bone, sliding up and over the flat planes of Arthur’s torso, and Arthur knew there was no way Eames would miss the muscles quivering under his touch. Something heavy and burning settled in Arthur’s stomach and he had to close his eyes, his head falling back against the wall with a thump, erection filling further with blood and straining against Eames’ thigh, his head swimming. Eames took full advantage and sealed his lips over Arthur’s pulse-point, his fluttering heartbeat now right against Eames’ mouth. Apparently, dropping the bottle in Eames' lap hadn’t done any lasting damage since Arthur could feel the hard curve of Eames length push insistently into his hip. Arthur tried to suck in enough breaths to re-activate his brain but Eames seemed set on making this as difficult as humanly possible, his thigh now finding a maddening rhythm, lips plush and hot and wet against Arthur’s neck, one hand tugging and fisting in his hair, the other sliding down over Arthur’s stomach, rounding his belly-button, and then fingers dipping into the waistband of his trousers.

There was a loud crashing sound both of them jumped at, and it served as the kick-start Arthur’s brain had needed. Eames’ eyes started to lose that heavy, dark look guys got when they got turned on enough to drift into that stupid-and-horny-headspace, and at the same time realization dawned on Arthur what exactly they’d been doing.  
He let go of Eames immediately and put his scowl back on, which seemed to have the desired effect for once: making Eames take a step back. His hands lifted up like he wanted to say _hey, I didn’t do anything_ , and Arthur glared at him for that. This was not how he’d wanted to end this evening. This was not what he … he should never have allowed this.

For a moment nobody said anything, Arthur just wanted the ground to open up and swallow him so he could drown in self-pity and shame in peace. The beat was still pulsing through the house and there were drunken, slurred voices from the other side of the wall. Eames rubbed a hand over his mouth, uncertainty clear in his face even as he tried to hide it. No matter what he’d done, Arthur was pretty sure Eames hadn’t planned this – and it wasn’t like he’d forced Arthur to do anything, he could’ve stopped the whole thing the second it happened.  
That didn’t make it any better, unfortunately.  
»See you in class«, he mumbled, his voice embarrassingly rough and pushed past Eames without looking at his face. He had to get his head clear, he had to … this never happened. He’d had a beer and a shot, clearly he couldn’t hold his alcohol as well as he’d thought. This was just another drunk encounter he’d forget all about, because it didn’t count. Obviously.

When he stepped into the hall, he saw an all but destroyed table, which had probably been the source of the loud crash, and a few people standing around looking drunk and sheepish. There had been a few bottles stored on the table judging from the puddle of liquid on the floor and broken glass spread over it all like a weird sort of glinting decoration of a strange art-model.  
Arthur turned the other way and steered towards the door when he ran into Ariadne.  
»Arthur! You’re still here?«, she asked surprised and furrowed her brow. That expression turned into stunned confusion when she took his appearance in. »You … what the hell were you doing? Did you … ?«  
She didn’t seem sure herself what it was exactly she was asking. Arthur chose not to deal with questions now and hastily tucked his shirt back in, tried to pull his clothes right once again and not throw a look back to check if Eames had reappeared as well. For his hair it was too late, he’d smoothed it back by using wet hands and Eames had done a thorough job of making it stick up every which way, dried in as it was now.  
»You leaving?«, he asked instead of replying and didn’t look into her searching eyes.  
She didn’t react for a second and Arthur thought maybe he should shout a little louder so she could understand him over the pounding beat, but then she nodded. »Yeah, Yusuf is getting his car.«  
Arthur nodded mutely and looked around. It was obvious she had questions but she just watched him and didn’t press for anything and Arthur loved her a little bit for that. He struggled not to cover his mouth, he was sure his lips were red and swollen, but covering it would only be more suspicious.  
»You seen Robert?«, he asked instead and forced himself to not fiddle with anything, just let his hands hang motionless at his sides.  
»No, not for a while.« She shook her head and finally looked away.  
Arthur nodded. »He can look after himself.«  
She didn’t reply and just took his arm, tugging after her. »Let’s go, Yusuf is probably waiting already.«

Yusuf’s eyes widened in surprise when he saw Arthur but Ariadne must’ve shaken her head or something, because he didn’t say anything and greeted him with a »hey, man« when Arthur got in the back of his car. Yusuf was the worst driver Arthur had ever seen, but at least fearing for his life it distracted him from his racing thoughts and he couldn’t help but feel a little grateful there for a few moments.  
When Robert stumbled in at five in the morning Arthur still hadn’t found any sleep but pretended to be asleep nonetheless. This evening had been even more of a complete disaster than Arthur had suspected before it even began … but then again he’d handled disasters before. He could handle seeing Eames again and not drown in shame. He had to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Say hi on tumblr! http://dont-kill-my-darling.tumblr.com/
> 
> Disclaimer: Inception and its characters aren't mine


	5. Reckless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, let's just pretend the last three weeks didn't happen ...  
> I just wanted to write fluff and that's just not what this fic needs at this point so I had to wait until I could write 'normal' again. I hope you like it, let me know what you think and thanks to all of you who've been leaving comments and kudos!  
> It's kind of an early christmas-present ;)
> 
> Chapter Title: Reckless - Papa Roach

**\- Eames -**

He wasn’t really sure why he kept returning to the gym. Arthur wasn’t there, hadn’t been there for a while and as of new Eames’ stomach kept dropping in a confusing mixture of annoyance at himself and Arthur alike whenever he found the gym lacking Arthur’s presence once again. Disappointment, relief, anger, and guilt, that was what kept churning somewhere around his stomach-area. Eames had no desire to pick apart why or how those _feelings_ had been developed, it would only result in confusion and more anger and guilt – those were all feelings he wasn’t terribly fond of and had always expertly managed to avoid.  
He had kissed Arthur, so what. It had happened in the heat of the moment, he hadn’t really been clear in the head, there’d been alcohol involved; it was excusable. He wasn’t about to outright lie to himself, he knew he’d wanted to kiss Arthur before, this hadn’t only occurred to him seconds before he actually did it. The loveliness of Arthur’s face wasn’t his imagination, he was sure many people had imagined kissing him and, well, he’d wanted to kiss that scowl off of Arthur’s face for weeks now, shake his stupidly solid confidence enough so maybe a human reaction would slip past his defences. Quite possibly Eames had spent too much time imagining breaking Arthur’s façade to pieces so he could finally see what was inside would look like.  
And now, after he’d actually done it, kissed Arthur’s resolve away (even if just for a few seconds), Arthur wasn’t there. It reminded him strangely of unwrapping a present he’d been waiting for _eternally_ , only to discover the present refused to be opened and fought back. That was perhaps a pretty selfish way to look at it, since Arthur’s purpose of life was hardly pleasing Eames and being his “present”, but Eames liked to think of it like that nonetheless. No matter how annoying and maddeningly robot-like Arthur behaved, there was something strangely fascinating about him and Eames couldn’t leave him be, he just couldn’t. He had to know what was behind that stoic mask, that need for perfection in everything Arthur did. Where did that come from? Where would it lead? How had he become like this? Was it out of pain? Just the way he was? Maybe the result of something incredibly dull and boring? Perhaps not? It felt like someone had handed Eames a script and asked him to play a highly complicated and interesting character, without a word of explanation why he was the way he was. Eames could not play – or in this case: understand – a character without knowing about their reasons, he needed an answer to the question of the _why_. Otherwise the character ended up flat, not believable and shaky.

This would’ve been hard to explain to Arthur back in that hallway, of course, even if he’d wanted to. Not that he had, Eames wasn’t typically open about his own reasons why, he just didn’t see the use in other people knowing. The other way around that logic didn’t apply naturally. He couldn’t have explained it anyway, seeing as he didn’t fully understand this fascination himself.  
Arthur hadn’t expected him to give an honest answer anyway when he’d asked Eames why. He just thought Eames enjoyed pushing Arthur to his limits, no deeper reason behind it, so when he’d asked it had been for the sole purpose of shutting Eames up. Maybe Arthur even thought Eames was a bit stupid, a bit shallow, and it surprised him how much that thought stung. He’d never cared about what other people thought of him, as much as he liked to be admired and appreciated, showing-off his knowledge and talent and all; his happiness didn’t depend on the approval of strangers. Arthur though … well, maybe Arthur didn’t classify as a ‘stranger’ anymore, did he? Even before Eames knew how Arthur’s muscles quivered under his touch and how surprisingly silky his raven hair felt, free of product as it had been … yeah, even before all of that, Arthur hadn’t really been a stranger. And somehow, inexplicably, Eames felt a bit disappointed. He’d thought Arthur was smart, much smarter than the majority of people Eames’d come across until now. He’d thought Arthur could see – _would_ see through Eames’ bullshitting. The thought was as scary as it was exciting … and apparently irrelevant since Arthur obviously didn’t think any higher of him than any other fleeting acquaintance. 

All this should not lead to Eames practically searching for Arthur, should it? Still, no matter where he was, he always kept half an eye out for him, no matter how unlikely it was for Arthur to be anywhere near Eames’ classes, the parties he went to, or on campus in the middle of the night (Eames had been really drunk, there hadn’t been any point in himself being there at that hour as well). In hope and dread alike, he’d turned to the sports-centre expecting to find Arthur there. But he wasn’t, like he hadn’t been for weeks since he’d started studying for exams. Nonetheless, Eames kept going to the gym for at least four days, punching the bag harder every time he discovered there was no Arthur present.  
He wasn’t sure what he’d do when he saw Arthur again, presumably nothing at all apart from staring and maybe saying something to rile him up. Eames wasn’t particularly cowardly, but the fact that he didn’t know what it was exactly he wanted from Arthur, combined with the positively murderous look Arthur had thrown him when Eames had pushed him against that wall … well, it just didn’t seem like a good idea to tease him any further and risk getting himself seriously injured. No matter how pliant and wanton Arthur had felt in his arms when he’d kissed him, Eames was sure it wouldn’t happen again soon, and Arthur was very much capable of bodily harming him in ways to make him regret his actions. He was just too much of a cautious, playing-by-the-rules type of guy to actually hurt Eames. Yet.

It was only when he sat in Prof Cobb’s lecture again and Arthur came in, spine impossibly straight, shoulders squared, and the most sober, blank expression on his face, that it hit Eames. _Of course_ , Arthur wasn’t in the goddamn sports-centre. He was bloody studying, which meant he was spending his days in the library. Maybe Eames had to re-think, maybe he wasn’t as smart has he’d thought himself, making this connection had really not been that hard. All in all, Arthur looked as put together and calm as always, which infuriated and drew Eames in both. He caught Arthur’s gaze a few times during lecture, his thighs deliberately spread, head cocked to the side lightly, and the easiest, most knowing smirk on his lips Eames had to offer

The only reaction he got was a raised eyebrow and an unimpressed blink.  
Eames wanted to push his hand down Arthur’s pants and wipe that look clean off his face, like he’d been about to do on that party, before they’d been so rudely interrupted.

Arthur walked out after the lecture was done without throwing one last glance back, giving no indication at all he even remembered what had had him hard and panting against Eames within minutes. Now, he couldn’t have that, could he? It seemed a little reminder was in order.  
So, for the next morning, Eames got up at a fairly respectable time (half past ten) and made his way to the library. He’d been there twice this semester, but if he managed to attract Arthur’s attention while in there he might go there more often, why would he turn down such an opportunity? When he entered it was quiet, as always, the silence occasionally disturbed by pages turning, someone typing away on their laptop or a soft snore here and there. It smelled like used air in here, books that had gone through way too many hands and now bore the marks to prove it were lined up row after row as Eames made his way to the section about architecture, while making sure his shoes squeaked noisily with every step. He wasn’t really in need of a refresher concerning architecture, this semester had been all about the renaissance and he just had to be able to name some of the trademarks of that particular style of building and painting, name a few artists maybe and sketch something about it, which wouldn’t be any problem at all. Still, maybe he could use some additional knowledge. About where to place one’s self perfectly in line of sight for an incredibly stoic, boring yet fascinating character, for instance.

Arthur was nowhere in sight but Eames didn’t let that discourage him. As far as he knew Arthur had classes right now but in the break in between this one and the next one at four Arthur would surely come here and use the hours to study, cause that was just the kind of obsessed perfectionist Arthur was.  
Eames chose a spot by the shelves where everyone coming in, leaving for the toilet or just in search of a particular book had to pass him by. He spread out his stuff over the desk so nobody would even think about joining him as it was clearly very much occupied. He looked at the scattered pens, his handwriting on a paper he’d written last semester, bag thrown over one chair, jacket over the other, and nodded to himself. Just the right amount of mess that would prevent Arthur from even considering this spot and not enough to make him suspicious – because Eames could just see Arthur finding out Eames was here and thereby sabotaging Eames’ clever plan, simply by recognizing the handwriting or something like that. Good thing he hardly ever wrote in his own handwriting, the chances Arthur recognized it were very slim.  
Then he left the library and bought himself a cup of coffee in the cafeteria downstairs, watched the people passing by idly and kept an eye out for the people headed to the library. At quarter past eleven Arthur appeared, his coat open, revealing a soft grey cotton-shirt and a dark red scarf slung loosely around his neck. Today he had foregone the beanie and his hair was slicked back as always, making Eames’ fingers itch to tousle it into its natural soft-curly state. As it was getting gradually warmer what with the summer approaching and spring getting sunnier by the day though, maybe Arthur would indeed be forced to wear something that wasn’t covering him from toes to neck, so Eames could look forward to that. His dark eyes were fixated on his phone as he rushed by and up the stairs toward the library, his bag containing undoubtedly his laptop and about a thousand books, hanging off of one arm and swinging dangerously behind him.

Eames smiled into his coffee and scraped the last delicious remnants of foam out of his cup. Oh yes, this would be fun. This was what Arthur got for ignoring him like that and actually _believing_ Eames would just let it go. Arthur really didn’t know a thing about him if he expected Eames to stand back and stay quiet about how Arthur had _kissed him back_. Shaking his head in part pity and part disappointment Eames wandered outside to smoke a cigarette and give Arthur a little more time to settle in. He would certainly be looking for the best spot left. First he’d consider the spot by the shelves on the whole other side of the room, but then he’d turn away from that one because all the people walking by would break his concentration. Next, Arthur would consider the free spots by the window, but they were perhaps too bright, so he’d turn to a free spot in the middle – only to end up choosing the spot by the window after all, because Arthur liked looking out of the window, daydream a bit and then start working, plus he didn’t like being in the center (of attention, of a group of people, of anything really) anyway. For this scenario to happen, all the spots Eames had seen unoccupied before had to still be actually unoccupied, of course, but he was fairly confident they were. There hadn’t been that many people on their way to the library in the past thirty minutes and those who had been, would have something better to do than destroy Eames little plan.  
Sure enough, when Eames returned to his desk fifteen minutes later, shoes squeaking beautifully on the rubbery floor, Arthur was sat in a spot right by the window just as Eames had predicted. He was leaning over a heavy, dead-boring looking book, and the light flooding in through the window made his skin shine even more milky-pale than usually and his dark hair shimmered with product. He didn’t look up when Eames walked in and he wasn’t sure Arthur had even heard the annoying squeaks he’d put so much effort in. He ignored the annoyed stares of other people gleefully (that Boring/Nash guy was one of them) and plopped down on his chair, immediately tipping it back on only two of its legs. Still no reaction from Arthur. Well, Eames could wait, no problem, he could be patient if he wanted. So he took a pen and put it behind his ear, a second one he twirled between his fingers and then a third pen to put in his mouth with his free hand.

Twenty minutes ticked by and Eames caught himself actually reading the book he’d opened up. As soon as he realized what he was doing he snorted, scolding himself, and pushed the book away. This was not what he’d come here to do. When he looked up he stared right into Arthur’s narrowed gaze (finally). The term ‘livid’ would apply quite perfectly to Arthur’s look and Eames threw back the most charming smile he could manage with a pen shoved between his lips. He closed them around it and gave a teasing suck, just for good measure, and to his great satisfaction Arthur’s stare got even more intense. His thoughts stood so clear in his eyes that Eames knew immediately, no matter how much of a convincing actor Arthur may or may not be, his eyes would always give him away. Written this clearly in his eyes was mostly a longing to wrestle Eames down and punch him until Arthur was satisfied, but there was also that unmistakeable heat that had nothing to do with _that_ kind of violence. Good.

Over the following two weeks Eames spent his days in the library and caught Arthur time and time again looking, assessing, the frown seemingly carved into his forehead by now. He’d leave abruptly on some days, hours before his next lecture even started, like Eames’d chased him away; on other days he stayed put, his glower ever present until Eames felt like there’d been a hole burned into his temple; rarely, only two times up until now, Arthur neither glared nor fled in the end. The first time, because he was focused enough on his work to actually forget Eames, and the second time his look had slightly shifted as he stared at Eames, not really seeing him, looking through him, completely lost in his thoughts. Normally Eames would’ve taken that as an insult but the interesting bit was, how Arthur flushed bright red after half an hour of watching Eames, like he’d only just now realized what he was doing. On that occasion Arthur hadn’t fled immediately, just shifted in his seat and threw glances at the other people present as if checking they hadn’t actually heard what he’d been thinking about. He hadn’t met Eames’ eye once after that.  
This was working out even better than he’d expected, Eames’ plan working out marvellous.  
No matter what though, Arthur never even attempted to corner Eames and demand he stop, like Eames could see his desire to so clearly. Maybe he was afraid of what Eames would do when they were alone.

Today was one of those stare-and-glare-days, so he leaned back, spread his thighs, sucked on his pen and winked at Arthur from across the room, only to watch on amusedly as Arthur shot him a deadly glare. Like that would keep him at a distance after all this time. The next time Arthur’s eyes returned to him, Eames rubbed a hand over his thighs and didn’t make any effort to conceal the grin spreading over his face. This was _fun_. Arthur huffed a breath through his nose and lifted one eyebrow arrogantly, like he meant to ask ‘really? In a library full of people? You realize how childish this is, right?’ and Eames chuckled quietly, because ‘damn right, in a library full of people’ and ‘no, he really wasn’t ashamed of it’. Arthur’s lips twitched nervously and he buried his nose back in his book, it would take at least ten minutes for him to look up again, Eames reckoned, which meant he probably had some time to daydream. He’d been doing that a lot, ever since that party-incident his mind was all to ready to supply images of what it would look like, if he managed to strip Arthur of his walls of indifference. Absentmindedly he started running the pen over his lips and imagined it was Arthur’s cock, all warm and wet and hard. Would his head be smooth? Eames was pretty sure Arthur was circumcised, it just seemed to be an Arthur-kind-of-thing, but maybe he wasn’t and that would be okay too. He’d be so hot and heavy on Eames’ tongue when he’d suck him in and Arthur’s thighs would tremble when Eames ran his tongue over the vein at the underside …

The scraping of a chair over the floor brought him back to reality and just in time to be honest, he was about to have a very uncomfortable boner in a library, the least sexy environment Eames could think of (not counting in sleazy nightclubs, public toilets, and backyards full of vomit and trash-cans), from the mere thought of sucking Arthur off. Eames liked sucking cock, always had, there was just something heady and powerful about it – plus, he was great at it, if he wanted to he could suck cock like an angel …or…like…the devil in this case? He wasn’t entirely sure. Probably more like an angel, Eames had always had more in common with angels than with the devil, he liked to think. He had learned to be careful about it, however, since guys always seemed like they wanted to destroy Eames’ mouth or something. He knew, he had gorgeous lips, thank you very much. But it somehow gave guys the impression Eames was the ‘submissive one’, which was complete bullshit of course. Just because he liked to do something they coincidentally benefited from, didn’t mean he was a pushover. The result was, he didn’t do it as often as he’d like to, simply to avoid the annoyance at such behaviour.  
For Arthur he’d make an exception, though.  
When Eames searched for the source of the noise, he found Arthur standing up, back and shoulders even more tense than usually as he walked stiffly out of the room. When he passed Eames by he didn’t spare one glance, just looked straight ahead, but of course Eames would notice his flushed face. There was no way to miss the dark red on those pale cheeks. Arthur’s eyes glinted in fury and something darker, something burning, hot and deep, and Eames felt the blood once again rush towards his lap. Dammit, he just had successfully suppressed popping a boner while thinking about blow-jobs and now Arthur had given him one anyway. He’d have followed after Arthur immediately but he didn’t think it appropriate to stroll around the library with his hard-on on full display; it could severely traumatize some of the younger members of the university, after all. Arthur had left his books and laptop by his spot by the window so it wasn’t like he wasn’t coming back, at least. Getting fresh air most likely. Or using the bathroom. Maybe looking for a specific book.

It took Eames a few minutes to adjust his trousers and push all thoughts of Arthur’s surely delicious cock away (once again), just so he could finally stand up and walk like a normal person. First he tried the toilets, not really expecting to find him there, but every possibility had to be ruled out. When he pushed the door open, to his great surprise he looked straight ahead at Arthur’s shining, wet profile. Eames’ first thought was _oh god, I made him cry_ and froze in the doorway in shocked silence. A few seconds later he realized that Arthur just seemed to have splashed some cold water on his face, his hair was in disarray, falling into his eyes and curling at his temples, and he appeared to be breathing hard.  
Oh. Well then. Eames stepped in and let the door swing closed behind him, the noise making Arthur’s head whip around, eyes widening when he realized who’d just entered.  
»Fuck off, Eames«, he said, eyes burning hotly but his voice almost resigned, tired out like Eames had sucked all of the fight out of him … Eames would like to suck something else entirely.

He lifted his hands in defense and stepped closer. »Hey, no need to be this unfriendly. I was just checking up on you, you looked – off.«  
»Yeah, like you got nothing to do with that«, Arthur grumbled under his breath and turned back to the mirror as he proceeded to wipe the water off his face. »Just leave me alone, for once in your life, alright?«  
Eames’ lips curled upwards without his permission as he watched Arthur’s normally so steady hands almost fluttering around, fidgeting with the thin material of his light brown sweater and pulling the hem down further. »I would«, he said slowly, inching a bit closer still until he could almost feel the body heat radiating off of him. »Because I’m a nice polite person, y’know darling. I would follow your orders without the blink of an eye, would never doubt you had the best of interests in anything you’d request. I’d be the perfect example of British politeness – as that’s the only true politeness, something you Americans sadly seem to be lacking and you don’t even show the desire to change that. A pity, really, I once knew a – «  
»God fucking dammit, _Eames!_ «, Arthur interrupted him, annoyance and impatience radiating off of him as he spun around and glared at Eames. »Shut up. Just … just shut up, okay?« He took a few deep breaths as if to calm himself down while Eames blinked in surprise. He’d never before heard Arthur raise his voice or swear like this, the fact it seemed to drop lower when he did completely unexpected. It made heat pool somewhere around his navel and Eames had to clear his throat as unobtrusively as he could manage with a heavily breathing, flushed and wet-faced Arthur stood right before him.

It took only a few seconds, then the calm was back in Arthur’s dark eyes and Eames had the strong urge to drag the passion, that had been there just now, back into appearance, no matter if he’d suffer the loss of various body parts for his troubles.  
»If you’ll excuse me now, I have to get back to my studies«, Arthur said and managed to still look condescending as he wiped his face dry with a paper towel and pushed past Eames. For a moment Eames could do nothing more than gape at the space Arthur had occupied just moments before, then he darted after him through the swinging door.  
There was no way Arthur could’ve missed Eames trailing after him, his squeaking steps obnoxiously loud as ever, but apparently he chose to continue ignoring him. And suddenly Eames had enough of it, he’d been sitting in a bloody library for weeks just to annoy Arthur and get him to do … _something_. Which hadn’t worked, obviously, seeing as the only reaction he’d managed to get from Arthur this whole time were half-arsed glances and fleeing. On top of it all, he couldn’t stop thinking about kissing Arthur and now he had apparently reached some kind of breaking point. Just as they reached the architecture section Eames grabbed Arthur by the wrist and pulled him in between the shelves, obscuring them from the eyes of those occupants who weren’t asleep.

Arthur let out a breathless gasp out of surprise and his eyes looked impossibly wide when he stared at Eames in shock, the noise doing nothing to calm Eames’ boiling blood. He didn’t let go of the wrist he’d captured as he pushed Arthur against the second row of shelves between them and the reading/studying-area. There was a lightbulb above their heads that seemed on the verge of dying out, the light flickering inconsistently and dimly. Next to Arthur’s right ear there was a book titled ‘architectural structures of the 16th century’. Eames couldn’t concentrate.  
»You think you’re so clever, don’t you«, he growled and was surprised himself at his own voice, low and rougher than he’d expected. There was annoyance flooding his veins hotly, mixed with that stubborn desire and irrational longing. He didn’t know what to do about it so for once he let his annoyance take over as he scowled at Arthur’s (satisfyingly) surprised face. »I _know_ you think about it, you even blush when you do, for fuck’s sake!«  
Promptly Arthur blushed again, pink high on his cheekbones as his eye flickered down to Eames’ mouth. Scowling he pushed against Eames chest, successfully shoving him a few inches back. »Yeah – so? Just leave me alone, I need to study, okay?«  
But Eames didn’t care, he wanted Arthur to stop treating him like he was something better, like Eames didn’t matter, he wanted … to be acknowledged? That didn’t seem right but it was the closest he’d come until now, so he’d take it.  
»I’m just being polite, you know«, he said putting on a fake-smile and stayed right where he was, preventing Arthur from fleeing again. »I’m only looking after a little friend, who has some anger-management-issues, because he just won’t remove the stick from his arse.«  
Arthur looked close to simultaneously crying and strangling him right here and now, his voice almost weak when he asked: »Why?«  
»Because it’s fun of course«, Eames shrugged easily as Arthur’s eyes narrowed once again. »You should try it sometime, darling. Have some fun for once in your life. That way maybe you’d be less of a stick-in-the-mud, there’s still hope for you.« He smiled brightly right before it was knocked right off his face.

Arthur had bellowed forward and slammed Eames into the bookshelf behind him, his upper lip curled in anger and frustration, fingers digging into Eames’ shoulders painfully before he hissed and attacked, bloody _attacked_ Eames. This wasn’t kissing, it was clashing mouths, lips bruising painfully as teeth snapped and bit, clicking when they connected. Eames gave back as good as he got, his hands slipping into the slicked back hair at Arthur’s nape, mussing it up as he pulled hard and dug his fingernails into the sensitive skin there. Arthur’s mouth tasted like heaven, mixed with the tang of blood where he’d bit into Eames’ lower lip. Arthur groaned breathlessly and that was it, that’s about as much as Eames could take. 

 

\- **Arthur** \- 

Eames just wouldn’t back off, standing there right in front of him with his fucking perfect lips, beautiful eyes, tempting hair sticking out every which way, those delicious strong shoulders and crooked white teeth – _that smile_! Arthur wasn’t thinking, couldn’t even begin to, too riled up from weeks of teasing glances and suggestive lip-rubbing-with-that-stupid-pen (Arthur would’ve never believed he’d someday be jealous of a ballpoint pen) and now Eames just kept pushing and pushing, couldn’t keep his damn mouth shut and … well, Arthur couldn’t really be blamed, could he?  
For a few blissful seconds he was holding the reins, pressing Eames against the shelf, pinning him there and biting his stupidly plush, soft mouth. But then Eames had them turned around in a second, Arthur now the one pressed into the bookshelf even as he hissed again and tried to buck Eames off. Strong, big hands came up and closed around his bony hips, pinning him effectively in place as Eames sucked on his lower lip, making Arthur gasp and using the opportunity to lick his way into Arthur’s mouth. Arthur felt dizzy, this kiss nothing like the first one at that awful party. That had been tame compared to this. Eames moved with purpose here, his thumbs rubbing the rough fabric of Arthur’s jeans and pushing his shirt up so they could reach naked flesh. No curtesy of being slow about it or covering it up, Eames made very clear what he was doing, which was, essentially, groping him. Goosebumps covered Arthur’s back and neck, and he almost bit Eames’ tongue in his effort to suppress the whine rising in his throat when Eames pushed a thigh up between his legs. Not that he was complaining, it felt fantastic, Eames’ broad capable hands on him, his infuriatingly hot body pressed to Arthur insistently – he just wished he could be a bit more dignified about it, instead of keening in the back of his throat as the muscles in his stomach started to quiver hot and tight and heavy and so, so hot.  
Fuck, Eames’ hands on his hips, his hot, slick tongue unrelenting in Arthur’s mouth, this was doing things to him … He had no idea how much time had passed but he was sure it was way too early to be almost fully hard in his jeans. When Eames started lazily sucking on Arthur’s tongue, his breath hitched and a pathetic whimper was muffled against Eames’ mouth as Arthur’s hips twitched forward on their own accord and pressed into Eames’ thigh. He could actually feel Eames’ grin on his lips even through the shaky exhale.

Eames’ grip on his hips tightened and he pulled away a few centimetres, both panting the same air now. His eyes were dark, darker than Arthur’d ever seen them, glazed over in heat, his pupils swallowing all but a sliver of the usual grey-green-blue-mix of his irises. His cheeks were flushed, chest rising and falling in soft pants and his lips looked obscenely red and swollen, Arthur could actually see where he’d dug his teeth into them. Holy shit.  
He’d never thought he could actually be turned on out of his mind but if that had ever been the case it was now. It was partially because of Eames, of course, he had never thought someone could _be good_ at groping, he didn’t even know what it was exactly he was doing differently, but whatever Eames was doing, he was doing it right. The other part was the effect it seemed to have on Eames himself, the hard outline of his cock visible, making Arthur want to press his hand to the bulge and map it out, feel it like he’d felt it press up against his hipbone seconds before. He could actually see Eames slipping into that headspace of being stupidly turned on. There wasn’t a thought in Eames mind right now, that wasn’t heavy with sex.  
Not that Arthur was much better off, obviously, seeing as he basically stood here, waiting for Eames to go on groping and grinding against him in a library full of people. Fuck.

Before he could fully grasp what that meant, Eames slid down to his knees without preamble, Arthur’s slim hips perfect in his hands as he pushed them firmly back to the wood of the shelf behind them. Arthur needed a few moments to catch up before he stopped bucking and trying to pull him up again by his hair, because, no, he wanted more kissing, couldn’t Eames tell? When he finally processed what was happening, he froze and stared down at Eames in a mixture of wondrous disbelief and fearful want; he wasn’t sure he wanted this (here? Like this? Really?) but, oh god, how he wanted it. This was certainly not the right place and definitely not the right time either, hell, minutes ago he’d been ready to strangle Eames! This was going to end in a disaster, he just knew it, but he couldn’t stop, he couldn’t … hot breath was ghosting over his painfully tented crotch-area and Arthur curled his toes inside his boots, dug them into the soles, to refrain from moaning. How could he ever say ‘no’ to this, how could he stop _now_? It was far too late already, he told himself, taking a few shaky breaths. Eames glanced up at him through his silly, thick eyelashes, and Arthur swallowed hard, giving an almost fearful, tentative nod.  
It seemed, that was all Eames needed. He immediately went to work on Arthur’s jeans, pushing the shirt up and spreading his wide palm over Arthur’s stomach in the process, not even attempting on covering this feeling-Arthur-up-campaign he seemed to have going. The other hand squeezed Arthur’s hip in warning, like he meant to tell him ‘stay’ (was Arthur a dog now?), before it slipped around to the front of his jeans, no longer obscured by the fabric of his shirt, and tugged the button open. Teeth grazed the thin, sensitive skin stretched over his hips and Arthur was grappling now, his fingers in desperate search of something to hold onto. This wasn’t how blowjobs were to go, sloppy and wet-hot-messy. Arthur had never been this hard before the guy even had his mouth on his dick, and it was almost a little frightening.

Then Eames pulled down the zipper in an impatient motion, one hand still holding Arthur’s shirt up and he should probably help him with that, should probably take hold of the shirt himself and hold it there, but he couldn’t let go of where his fingernails were leaving marks on the covers of the books he was holding onto. He desperately tried to think, shook his head and blinked a few times as if that would make the haze surrounding him go away. He should be listening to footsteps, preventing them from getting caught, but all he could hear was the pounding of his racing heartbeat ringing in his ears, too loud to make out any other noises.  
Eames huffed into the juncture of where Arthur’s thigh met his pelvis and tugged one-handedly at his jeans until they were finally halfway down his thighs. Thank god, Arthur had put on the black boxer-briefs this morning, the batman-logos from yesterday’s underwear would’ve probably been something of a mood-killer.

He didn’t get much further than that because the next he knew there was cool air hitting him where Eames had pulled down his briefs. A gasp broke free but turned into a bitten off moan when Eames immediately leaned in and mouthed at its length. Arthur’s knees started shaking slightly and he forced himself to let go of the books with one hand, to push the heel against his mouth and muffle any noises. It was covered in saliva within minutes, since he was biting down on it in his effort of muting his pitiful moans and whimpers.  
There was heat pooling at the base of his spine, his balls drawing up already and Arthur should be embarrassed, or at least relieved, if he came quickly maybe they wouldn’t get caught after all, but he didn’t. Instead he held in his breath and pushed the haze back as far as he could, clearing his head a little, at least. Hot, wet suction when Eames wrapped his lips around just the sensitive head, tonguing at his slit and Arthur felt delirious with need and want and the lack of oxygen. Eames looked up at him and oh god, how was he supposed to hold on like this? Still not allowing himself to breath, teeth buried in his palm, he was successfully suppressing each and every noise that otherwise would’ve spilled. The way Eames looked on his knees, beautiful eyes wide and dark, full lips wrapped obscenely around Arthur’s cock, stubble-dusted cheeks hollowed as he sank down as far as possible … Arthur’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment and he sucked in half a breath before holding it once again. _Don’t come, don’t come, this … this is … don’t you fucking dare come, don’t …_.  
Eames’ fingers dug into Arthur’s hip to where he’d dropped it, the shirt now only held up by Eames nose and he couldn’t have that, he couldn’t. Arthur gripped the fabric himself and pulled it up so he could see, the other hand (a really stupid idea, frankly) dropping from covering his mouth to Eames’ hair. He wanted to touch, wanted to feel it all. Biting his lip he ran his hair through the soft, wild hair, tousled it even more on its way to Eames’ jaw.

Eames’ eyes seemed to widen impossibly, startled like he couldn’t believe what Arthur was doing. It wasn’t that far out of line, though, was it? Eames had his cock stuffed in his mouth, after all, it was understandable he wanted to touch Eames’ lips, right? He swiped his thumbs over them, feeling the stretch but careful not to graze his own cock, rubbed his knuckles over his stubbly jaw, and pressed the tips of his fingers to the hollow of Eames’ cheeks, feeling the hardness, sliding slowly, hot and filling in and out of Eames mouth.  
»Fuckfuckfuckfuck _fuck_ «, he swore under his breath, perhaps pretty careless considering their current location but he couldn’t think straight, he could do anything but shudder and try, _try so hard_ not to come.

Eames unfortunately chose that moment to moan, the sound muffled around Arthur’s cock, sending the vibration shooting hot down his spine like a firework. Arthur’s muscles locked up, eyes wide open but not seeing, he was so close, so fucking close, when Eames chin touched his balls briefly. And then Eames slid his hands around Arthur, slipped them between his back and the shelf behind, took hold of Arthur’s cheeks, still partly covered by his briefs, and _squeezed_.  
Arthur saw stars, his mouth dropped open in a silent groan as he pulled hard at the hair in Eames’ nape and helplessly bucked his hips simultaneously. Eames didn’t pull back, ignored the tugging on his hair and tried his best to keep his lips wrapped around Arthur when he came harder than he could remember ever having come before.

When he came to again, he was still heaving breaths, slumped against the shelf behind him, and staring up at the ceiling. Trying to calm his breathing he lowered his gaze and found Eames standing right in front of him, heat still evident on his flushed face as he rubbed his thumb over the corner of his mouth, catching a shining drop of … _of Arthur’s come_.  
Well, shit.  
Eames seemed able to watch the shock of realization hit home, there was an answering lazy grin stretching over his face. He looked so satisfied and proud of himself, Arthur could’ve missed the still very prominent bulge in Eames’ trousers. Arthur’s palm itched to reach out, curl his fingers around the hot length and pull until Eames came apart under his hand. But, no. _No_. This was not happening, this could not be happening. Not here, not like this, not now, and … damn it, he knew this had to end in a disaster.

»Well … that was fun«, Eames said and his voice was honest to god wrecked, rough and raspy and it was so painfully obvious where his mouth had just been. His pupils were still dilated, his cheeks still slightly pink and his lips were glistening as if daring Arthur to give in to the temptation.  
Arthur hastily tucked himself back in, his face burning in embarrassment and the last remnants of want and need and Eames. »We’re in the library«, he hissed back and tried uselessly to fix his hair. »We’re in public, in case you didn’t notice.«  
»Aw, it’s not public though, was it?«, Eames cooed, and no, just no, he couldn’t coo with a voice wrecked from sucking cock. »Nobody saw, don’t worry about your precious little virtue, darling.«  
Arthur glared at him, because that was just what he could do best, and pushed against Eames chest when he moved a little bit too close. »Never. Do that again.«  
It was probably because his arousal was still painted all over his face, his words had hardly any impact. Instead Eames’ lazy smirk didn’t waver, but at least he stood still when Arthur pushed past him and made no move to stop him. Judging by the bulge, Eames was in no condition to follow him for the next few minutes and Arthur quickly packed all his stuff and fled the library as fast as he could, his face burning with every move. He could feel the fabric rubbing roughly over his now soft (over-sensitive from just coming) cock.  
Nash`s eyes followed his movements suspiciously and Arthur was almost sure he knew what Arthur’d had just been doing only a few feet away.

Eames’ wet mouth on his dick, he could still feel it, the way his tongue had curled around it and when his hands had … God, his hands were shaking and all he could think of was how he’d left Eames there, obviously hard and straining in his pants. It had been rude, right? He should go back and apologize or at least make up for it in some way. Only he couldn’t, he couldn’t go back because that would end in him being on his knees. Just like Eames’d been minutes ago.  
He was so fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Say hi on tumblr! http://dont-kill-my-darling.tumblr.com/
> 
> Disclaimer: Inception and its characters aren't mine


	6. Come As You Are

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all for your kudos and comments, these are the things I live for ;)
> 
> Chapter title: Come As You Are - Nirvana
> 
> Warning: they're drunk and high in this one. a bit.

\- **Eames** \- 

Eames wouldn’t say he was particularly happy about the whole situation. He wasn’t exactly mad either, it wasn’t the first time Arthur’d left him hard in his pants after all, it wasn’t exactly surprising. Maybe he’d call it ‘disappointed’ … he’d known this was a very possible outcome, he’d never expected anything to come from going after Arthur anyway, to be honest. Then again he hadn’t exactly planned to get on his knees and suck him off right then and there either, so measuring by his expectations probably wasn’t the best way to go about this.  
Arthur’d been gone, of course, when he’d finally managed to distract himself enough with boring books to make his stubborn erection go away, and follow after him. From the moment he’d seen the panic creep into Arthur’s eyes, Eames had known he’d be gone.

Receiving a world-class blowjob in a library apparently fell under that ‘pushing it too far’- category he had been trying to avoid. Well. Eames couldn’t say he understood that, but then again Arthur hadn’t been all that relatable up until now in general, so that wasn’t really surprising.  
He’d been too forward, that had to be it. Trying to monopolize Arthur’s attention for weeks was evidently not an appropriate way to show one’s desire to touch their dick. Who knew. In Eames’ defense though, Arthur had a really pretty dick. Not that he’d known this before he’d actually pulled it out of the restrictive pants, but his fantasies hadn’t been that far off. Which was a nice surprise for a change, since fantasies were great and all, but he couldn’t just _expect_ to be fulfilled. Arthur though … Arthur had been just perfect, sweaty and desperate and needy and so unexpectedly responsive.

Shame he hadn’t gotten a chance to feel Arthur’s hands anywhere below his shoulders. At least now he had far more detailed and accurate wanking-material, if nothing else. So. There was that.

But exams were coming up for real now and Eames had to think of other things and study at least some. He hadn’t even had time to stalk the gym, check if Arthur was there and maybe tease him about…uhm, just tease him. Or just see him. From a safe distance. Or something.  
He wasn’t hiding, oh no, he wasn’t. He was just too busy to stalk Arthur anymore. No matter what Yusuf said, whenever he saw Eames behind a ‘suspiciously’ large pile of books. The fact he was bringing the books home from the library instead of studying there was just a matter of preference, he simply liked studying at home better. A cup of tea (or coffee), a nice warm blanket and music blearing in the background, when he was studying, that was the perfect scenario –waking up with a boner pressed up to a book in his lap because he’d once again dreamed of gentle fingers shaping out his mouth and rubbing over his jaw, unfortunately seemed part of that scenario. What a strange experience, though. He’d never thought he’d ever have a hard-on anywhere near a book.

He’d managed to avoid Arthur for quite a while, exams almost over when he came close to bumping into him by accident. He’d been on his way to Yusuf’s, earphones popped in and music blasting loud enough for everyone in a four-metre-radius to understand the lyrics. Rounding the corner of Yusuf’s building he looked up and there he was, Arthur, frighteningly close as he was just shutting the door behind him. With a curse Eames stumbled back to hide behind the corner, one of his sketch-books almost falling from the pile he was carrying in his arms. After a few seconds of catching his breath he peeked around the corner and stopped the music, so he could at least hear if someone was coming close enough to see him acting like a creep.  
Arthur had taken two steps away from the door and was looking around with furrowed brows, mildly curious like he’d heard something but wasn’t sure where it had come from. Phew, at least he hadn’t seen Eames scrambling behind the corner, how pathetic would that have looked? Quickly Eames pulled his head back when Arthur shrugged and started walking again.

With as much grace as possible Eames retreated further and rounded the building slowly, approaching the door from the other side a few minutes later. Arthur was nowhere in sight, thank fuck. Eames had a feeling Yusuf was taking more time than usually to push the buzzer and let Eames open the door, but that could just be his imagination. He practically flew up the two flights of stairs to Yusuf’s flat, Yusuf opening the door and lifting a quizzical eyebrow at the sight of a slightly-out-of-breath-Eames.  
Some experiment was taking up Yusuf’s table and part of the kitchen, only the path to his fridge seemed safe, so Eames dumped his sketchbooks on the old, broken piano that Yusuf was just too lazy to throw out (and also hid his money in).

»You got food?«, he asked and flopped down on the couch, papers and magazines rumpling underneath him. Yusuf frowned at him and Eames pulled them out from under his bum, only two of the papers tearing, and put them on one of Yusuf’s two chairs. A very unsteady looking pile of books and papers was already sitting on it, adding another few to that pile was only reasonable.  
»Did you just come here to eat all my food?«, Yusuf asked but shuffled into the kitchen, where Eames could hear him open the fridge with a sigh.  
»Of course not, I’m also here to smoke all your weed«, Eames replied shrugging and slid down the couch a little more until he was in his preferred slouching position. He looked around lazily; the experiment looked complicated and a bit dangerous to be frank, and Eames thought idly about reminding Yusuf that his table was in fact made of wood, which oftentimes had the annoying habit of catching fire if something flammable was near. Liquid bubbled in various glass-thingys, steam was puffing from two of them and it smelled faintly of sulphur, but no more than usually. There were a few boxes stuffed under the table with more chemicals in them and Eames had to fight the urge to just throw random stuff into random, bubbling liquids in the hopes some of the steam would take magical shapes like spirals or a butterfly. He’d done that once, which had resulted in singed eyebrows and eyelashes, as well as losing the ability to see colours for a period of time. Experiencing the world in black and white for a few days had been really interesting, but he’d been relieved nonetheless when the colours had started fading back. Yusuf had never been angrier at him than in that moment.

»I’ve got, uh, pickles, tuna, mayonnaise and ketchup … and a bit of rice«, Yusuf informed him, apparently still looking into the fridge.  
»You got salt and pepper?«, Eames asked and started playing with his lighter to distract himself from Yusuf’s experiment.  
»Yeah.«  
»M’kay, then bring the tuna, ketchup and mayonnaise with you«, Eames instructed. »And a bowl. And a spoon. Or better two spoons.«  
Yusuf brought the requested items, suspicion and distrust clear in his eyes as he watched Eames work. He looked less than enthusiastic at the result of Eames’ tuna-mayonnaise-and-ketchup-mixture, which – to be honest – didn’t look _that_ delicious, but Eames knew what he was doing, okay. He put in a generous amount of salt and then a bit of pepper, tried it , put more pepper and salt in, tried it once more and then nodded. »Ta-da.«  
Yusuf looked at the pink-red mush in the bowl, then at Eames’ face and back. »I need weed to get that down my throat.«  
Eames pouted.

Half an hour later the bowl was clean as can be, Yusuf was licking his lips with a contented sigh and took the offered joint from Eames. »That was better than I’d thought.«  
»Admit it, it was the most delicious thing you’ve ever tasted«, Eames grinned and rolled to his side to watch Yusuf with a grin, spread out on his back on the floor like he was, because Eames had claimed the couch for himself.  
Yusuf snorted instead of an answer and took another drag.  
»We need music«, Eames decided when he got the joint back and jumped up. After the swaying and dizzy sensation had faded he went over to Yusuf’s boxes and plugged his phone in.  
»Nooo, Eeeeemes«, Yusuf whined when the music started. »Again? Why are we always hearing this shit when we’re getting stoned?«  
»This is Pink Floyd, you uneducated barbarian«, Eames sniffed and flopped down next to him. His left foot had made it up the couch at least, even if the rest of his body was resting on the floor. »In the movies, when they get stoned, they always put _Comfortably Numb_ in the background, so quit whining, we’re being classy.«  
Yusuf snorted, wriggled his fingers for the joint and choked a little on his own spit. Eames gave him the blunt with a giggle and Yusuf had to calm himself down before he could take another drag.

»This is actually pretty … chill«, Yusuf mumbled with closed eyes, _Comfortably Numb_ on replay.  
»Bloody hipster«, Eames said to no-one in particular and took the deepest drag yet, held the smoke in for what felt like ten years and exhaled slowly when his vision started to blur. »Hey, why aren’t you fucking that … that … bird. Y’know, the … «, he snapped his fingers impatiently when Yusuf threw him a puzzled look. » … ah, complicated name. Huge doe-eyes. Pretty smart. Sort of extremely short. Nice – «  
»Ariadne?«, Yusuf interrupted him.  
Eames snapped his fingers again, only this time triumphantly. »Yeah. Her. Why aren’t you two going at it like bunnies? She likes you, you like her. It’s not like I don’t know you wanted to jump her from the moment you tore your eyes from your chemicals for once and looked at her as a real person. If I was you and knew she liked me as well, we’d be boning all the time, let me tell y– «  
»I don’t. Need to hear this«, Yusuf interrupted him again, this time maybe a little tense. Well, Eames _had_ been talking about boning his almost-girlfriend.  
»Sorry. So. Why?«, he couldn’t help but ask again.  
Yusuf sighed and gestured for the remnants of the joint. »I don’t know, Eames. I just … dunno, I really like her, I guess.«  
Eames rolled his eyes. »Yeah, I know. And she likes you. So where’s the problem? You can’t get it up, or what?«  
» _No_! Geez, Eames.« Yusuf took the last drag and let the rest drop into the ashtray by his right elbow. »I like her, okay? That’s it, I just like her. She’s nice, and funny, and fucking intelligent, and I like hanging out with her and … we don’t need to be boning, Eames. We’re just. Gonna take it slow.«  
»Ah«, Eames nodded understanding. »She into all that ‘it has to be meaningful’-bullshit?«  
Yusuf kicked him. Not very hard, he was probably aiming for Eames’ shin and only caught his ankle but still. It hurt a bit.  
»No, you Neanderthal, it’s just not what it is all about. Not yet anyway. It’ll come. Maybe after the exams. She said maybe I could visit her during the break.«  
Eames stared up at the ceiling and made a noncommittal sound.  
»I really like her, Eames«, Yusuf said again and maybe Eames understood. A little.

»I like Arthur’s dick«, he said, staring hard at a blackened spot on the ceiling. Was that spot from his little accident with the eyebrows or some other experiment gone a bit more explosive than Yusuf had planned?  
Yusuf groaned. »Really? I talk about how I _really, honestly fucking like someone_ and you come up with Arthur’s _dick_?«  
»Hey, it’s a really lovely dick!«, Eames defended Arthur’s honour – uh, dick. He glared sideways at Yusuf. »Not just his dick, obviously. I like his mouth too, even if he could learn to be a bit more polite with it. His hands are nice, too. And I could go on about his arse and legs in those damned trousers, if you like. You’ve got no idea what I’m talking about, it’s torture … «  
For a while it was quiet like Yusuf was waiting for him to continue but Eames was too busy mourning the fact he was too high to get a real boner at the moment. He was a bit unsure of how much he could tell Yusuf in this state, as well, his brain could come up with some sappy shit after all and it was best to avoid getting sappy, Eames thought.

»I have no idea what you’re talking about, mate«, Yusuf agreed, then there was a shuffling sound and suddenly Yusuf was lying on his side instead of in his back, ink black curls falling into his bright, glazed-over eyes, his face a bit sweaty and his hands flat on the ground to keep him from rolling over all the way on his stomach. He was frowning a little. »How do you know that Arthur’s dick is lovely?«, he asked mildly concerned.  
Eames was pretty sure if they had this conversation completely sober, Yusuf would be hysterical by now. »I, uh, kind of, uh, sucked him off? Like. In the library. I hadn’t planned to, y’know, it just … sort of … happened.«  
Another short pause, then Yusuf’s face scrunched up and he was full on giggling, holding his stomach and outright wheezing to get some air in between his giggles. »God, Eames«, he said rubbing his eyes where a few tears had gathered in the corners. »You’ve got such filthy fantasies.«  
Eames had opened his mouth to tell him, his fantasies were much, much filthier than that, thank you very much, when Yusuf went on: »But, you know, if you really like Arthur, you should just ask him out. Instead of, dunno, constantly behaving like a dick around him, you could actually try and be nice for once. Maybe he’d appreciate it.«

Thing was though, Eames didn’t _do_ ‘nice’. He wasn’t very nice in general, he just was who he was. A bit cynical, pretty carefree, a bit problematic concerning authorities, he had a lovely personality, more charm than was probably good for him, sometimes going a bit overboard with his ideas … he had many traits other people should admire, really. He just wasn’t nice. ‘Nice’ was empty, without any meaning or fun to it, it was boring. Why on earth would he ever want to be just ‘nice’?

Still, somehow he found himself waiting for Arthur after Prof Cobb’s class a few days later, rolling the cigarette he’d lit to calm his inexplicably nervous hands (it had to be the coffee from this morning, Eames _knew_ he should’ve gone for the tea) between his fingers.  
The ever bored looking Nash was too concentrated on his phone to even look up and Arthur seemed to possess the ability to sense where Eames was and hence avoided even looking into his direction. Ariadne however, she saw him right away and if he wasn’t imagining things, her mouth quirked into a far too amused curve and her eyes twinkled. Either she had that scary way, some women had with reading thoughts, or Yusuf had been gossiping again. Not that Eames could really blame him, what was a more interesting topic to gossip about than Eames’ exciting life?

»Hey, Eames«, she greeted, her eyebrows lifted scarily knowing. Arthur’s head flew up so quickly, Eames was half afraid he’d get whiplash. Well. Okay, maybe Arthur didn’t have the ability to sense Eames’ whereabouts. He felt a little disappointed at that.  
»Hey«, he replied with an easy smile and subtly positioned himself a few small steps into their path so they automatically came to a halt right in front of him. He took a calming drag, eyes fixed on Ariadne, before he exhaled smoke and let his eyes drift over to Arthur. Those dark eyes were focused on him, calm and unflinching, not showing anything. The only clue Eames got was the hint of pink on those high cheekbones of his.  
»Everything going fine?«, Ariadne asked casually, obviously waiting for Eames to get to the reason as to why he’d waited up on them.  
»Yeah, yeah, everything’s brilliant«, Eames said and waved his hand dismissively. Nash looked so bored, the only way to top it would be if he were actually asleep on his feet. »Listen, Yusuf and I are going to this party, and I know he hasn’t asked but he’d be _chuffed_ if you’d show up, sweetheart.« He chanced another glance at Arthur, deliberate smirk curling his lips. Arthur’s eyes narrowed. »You can – of course – bring friends.«  
»That include me?«, Nash asked, at least he seemed half-awake now.  
»No. Piss off«, Eames said sweetly and stared hard at him. After a few seconds of disbelieving silence and a deep frown, Nash turned briskly and walked away. Ariadne was very bad at hiding her grin, acting would be a very unlucky career choice should she ever consider it.  
»That was rude«, Arthur commented but didn’t seem particularly bothered by it. Eames shrugged, smiled angelically and blew his smoke into Arthur’s face.  
»Like you care about him. Problem, darling?«  
Arthur scowled and scrunched his nose in disgust.  
»This party«, Ariadne interrupted. »When is it? And where, cause I’m not driving through half the town, no matter how _chuffed_ Yusuf would be, just so you know. «

By God, that English accent she’d tried was awful. Eames grinned triumphantly.  
»End of next week, Friday after the last exam. Just a few streets from my place«, he said and pulled very slowly on his fag, opened his mouth and let the smoke just curl lazily out between his lips instead of exhaling it. Arthur’s eyes were giving him at least third-degree-burns, but it was worth it.  
»Your place?«, Ariadne repeated with furrowed brows.  
Before she had a chance to ask, her mouth already opened, he cut in. »Don’t worry, Arthur here knows where it is.« He threw away the filter and bobbed Arthur’s nose winking. »You remember, darling, don’t you?« Arthur scowled but didn’t budge. »I could wait for you and lead you to the party, if you like.«  
»Don’t worry, we’ll ask Yusuf for the details«, Ariadne declined politely but with a pointed look at Arthur’s dark expression.  
»So, are you coming, too?«, Eames couldn’t help but ask. At least he’d managed to make the question sound as flippantly as possible.  
Arthur’s left eye twitched.  
»We’ll see«, Ariadne said quickly.  
»I thought you knew how to have a little fun by now«, Eames said smirking and Arthur blushed, making Eames feel immensely satisfied – at least Arthur hadn’t completely forgotten him.  
Without another word Arthur took Ariadne’s arm and pulled her with him and away from Eames. She had the politeness of at least waving goodbye over her shoulder and smile apologetically.

He had to wait and see then, Eames supposed.

 

\- **Arthur** -

»Unbe- _fucking_ -lievable«, Arthur swore and his eyebrows actually creeping into his field of vision with the way he was pulling them together and down.  
»Someday your face is gonna get stuck like this«, Ariadne informed him without looking up from where she’d been inspecting her lipstick in the mirror.  
Yusuf sighed. »I don’t think he means to … annoy you. Maybe that was just his, ah, way of, you know, asking you out. Subtle.«  
Arthur stopped his pacing. »Yes, of course, it’s so obvious. Why haven’t I thought of that myself?«, he deadpanned and started pacing again.  
Yusuf threw his hands in the air and dropped into his lap again. »Well. Sorry.«

They had been at Yusuf’s for at least an hour now. Ariadne had wanted to be early so she could spend some more time with Yusuf – and there was free booze. Arthur was here mostly for the booze. And since Ariadne had spent more time looking in the mirror than actually drooling over Yusuf, he was allowed.  
»He’s so full of himself, when he gets sick I bet he’s vomiting bits and pieces of himself«, Arthur mumbled and, okay, maybe he’d had a bit too much. But really. He hadn’t seen Eames for two weeks after he’d had Arthur’s cock in his mouth and when he finally decided to grace Arthur with his presence again, he had to be as cocky and arrogant as possible. He hadn’t even wanted to go to this stupid party, but Ariadne had said it’d be good to let loose a little after the exams and maybe she had a point. But it didn’t stop him from fuming over what Eames had said and _how_ he’d said it, still.

»Well, he is pretty hot«, Ariadne shrugged and snapped her mirror shut. »Not that he’s my type, but I’m not blind, I can acknowledge attractiveness when I see it.«  
»He is _not_ «, Arthur said decisively and shook his head. »He is sleazy and disgusting and arrogant and a prick and he wears the worst clothes ever and he can’t even stand properly and he smokes and … and … he’s just an asshole all around. Eames is not attractive. At all.«  
Yusuf’s eyebrows had ben wandering further and further up his forehead with every word and were now practically invisible beneath the thick curls of his black hair, while Ariadne just rolled her eyes and bumped him with her elbow. »Whatever you say, Arthur.«  
»He’s not«, he insisted, not getting why they wouldn’t understand him. The image of Eames on his knees, licking drops of Arthur’s come from his lips, flashed before his eyes and he almost groaned out loud. That was not what he should be thinking about, he’d already wanked far too often to that image, it was getting seriously pathetic. It had gotten to the point he actively had to think of grandma and dead puppies whenever Eames was near, just to remind his cock that it wasn’t wanking-time with fantasies, but reality right now and popping a boner would be inappropriate.

»Let’s go«, Ariadne said like she hadn’t heard him and got up, tugging Yusuf with her.  
»We’re taking the bus this time, though«, Yusuf reminded them while shrugging his coat on. Arthur followed them with a heavy sigh. »I’m getting piss-drunk tonight, I’m tellin’ ya. These exams were killing me, I deserve a bit of fun.«  
Arthur shrugged. »Fine by me.« Ariadne didn’t say anything.  
When they got on the bus she and Yusuf sat close enough to each other to link their fingers together, both of them acting like it was nothing. When Arthur had questioned Ariadne about Yusuf and if they were dating or not, she’d blushed terribly and stuttered ‘it has to _mean_ something. I … we … we want it to mean something, so we’re going just … with whatever comes up’. Arthur wasn’t sure what that meant, it wasn’t like Ariadne was a virgin or hadn’t had boyfriends before. But what could he say, he didn’t understand anything happening between her and Yusuf, he wouldn’t start commenting on it now.

The party this time was just the first floor of a building, right above a closed store in the basement that appeared to be selling furniture. There were a people already there, the amount just on the right side of too-many-people, and they found their way quick enough to the kitchen (read: the booze) after Arthur had found a place to store his jacked where he was sure, nobody would accidentally puke on it. Not that it was an expensive or special jacket, he just tried to avoid vomit as much as possible after a friend of Robert’s had puked over his shoes last semester. Wasn’t as fun as it apparently looked, travelling halfway through town in just his socks.  
Some indie-rock strangely mixed with house was blasting through the walls but it wasn’t too loud to talk thankfully. Arthur had just finished mixing Ariadne’s drink when someone bumped their hip against his, making him spill liquor over his fingers, and when he looked up he found Yusuf smiling at him.  
»Having fun?«

Somehow he ended up sitting on a couch that seemed old enough to have seen his grandma’s childhood (it smelled like it, as well) next to Yusuf who was busy rolling a joint and humming merrily under his breath.  
»You’re disconcertingly good at this«, Arthur commented with a look at the perfect joint. It looked like it did in the movies, not crooked and floppy, half falling apart, like the one he’d had a drag from in ninth grade. It had tasted awful, hot and dry and sickening and Arthur had coughed so hard, he’d almost thrown up. Not his best moment that.  
Yusuf gave him a crooked smile and stroked over his perfectly rolled blunt with almost loving fingers. »Practice, dear Arthur. Practice. Plus, I’m studying chemistry, so that makes for good weed. Like really good.«  
Arthur shrugged and licked his fingers where they’d gotten sticky when he’d made Ariadne’s drink, and pulled a face. Ew, gin. He felt like maybe he should go find her and apologize. »Whatever you say.«

Yusuf wasn’t listening to him, he was squinting at someone and then gestured for them to come over. »Light«, he demanded, snapping his fingers and Eames snorted, rolling his eyes when he came to a halt in front of them.  
»Don’t you have your own lighter?«, he asked and winked at Arthur as he dug through the pockets of his sinfully tight jeans in search for said lighter.  
»Lost mine«, Yusuf mumbled distractedly and grabbed the proffered lighter.  
Eames sighed and pulled himself a chair over to sit in front of Yusuf, but tilted it Arthur’s way, his eyes focused on him while Yusuf busied himself lighting the joint. »D’you smoke?«  
Arthur frowned when Eames jerked his chin in Yusuf’s direction and it had to be the alcohol that had loosened his tongue, because before he could censor himself he heard himself saying: »I cough up like an idiot so I tend to avoid those things.«  
Eames’ eyes widened in surprise and then crinkled in a smile, one of the warm ones, the real ones, before Arthur could get self-conscious about what he’d just said. »You ever shotgunned?«  
Arthur blinked »Uh … no?« He wasn't entirely sure he knew what Eames meant by that. There were several different scenarios he could imagine Eames was talking about.  
Yusuf lifted his head slowly, exhaling smoke, his eyes narrowed and he watched Eames suspiciously.  
»You wanna do a shotgun then?«, Eames continued, ignoring Yusuf’s stare.  
»Eames – «  
Arthur looked from one to the other in confusion, then to the joint and back to Eames. He couldn’t ask what Eames meant by that _now_ , otherwise he’d admit to lying before. Arthur hated to admit he didn’t know something, still maybe it would be a good idea to admit it now and ask before something went horribly wrong. But somehow he couldn’t bring himself to do it.  
»Shush you, nobody asked for your opinion«, Eames said waving a dismissive hand in Yusuf’s face without taking his eyes off of Arthur. Why wasn’t he roaring drunk like the rest of them? He seemed far too focused to be roaring drunk.  
»Well, it’s my weed and I ain’t giving you my weed to have an excuse to assault Arthur«, Yusuf said and sniffed indignantly while Arthur flushed bright red.  
Assault. _Assault_. What.  
»Don’t worry, darling, I’ll keep my hands above your shoulders at all times«, Eames winked as if he was trying to obscure the soft expression now visible in his eyes. Was Arthur’s face really that panicked, that Eames felt the need to soothe him? »Promise.«  
Arthur’s head was swimming and images of Eames on his knees for him, that plush, warm mouth on his, the glazed over look of his eyes, how his heat and smell had encased Arthur … all that came rushing back from where he’d tried to bury it, and before he could stop himself, he parted his lips and breathed: »Okay.«

Yusuf gave Eames a hard stare but handed over the joint when he wriggled his fingers expectantly in front of his face.  
»You don’t have to«, Yusuf reminded him but Arthur’s brain was fuzzy with alcohol and images of Eames in unspeakable positions. Those full lips tightened around the joint and the end lit up red when Eames started pulling. Either his lungs could expand unnaturally or Arthur’s grasp on time had gotten a little loose, either way it felt like Eames was breathing in for ages before he set down the joint. Then he got up and went over to tower over Arthur and he spread his knees automatically to make room and give Eames space to lean into.  
Eames glanced at Yusuf, who hadn’t moved an inch and just watched them darkly, his mouth twisted unhappily. He shook his head, dark curls bouncing. »I’m not leaving you alone with Arthur – this wasn’t what I meant by _nice_ , by the way.«  
Still holding the smoke in his lungs Eames was unable to reply and just shrugged. Then suddenly he bent down, his hands on Arthur’s shoulders as he pushed him against the backrest, Arthur’s heart hammering in his chest.

He really should’ve asked what exactly a shotgun meant in this context but it was getting pretty clear which kind of shotgun Eames had meant. Arthur couldn’t chicken out now – the sweat of his palms and lazy pulse of blood towards his crotch, told him he didn’t _want_ to chicken out either. Eames’ face was close now, his hands sliding from his shoulders up his neck and to his face, where he held Arthur still, eyes big and bright, noses brushing and then there was a soft mouth pressing against his, fingers warm and rough on his cheeks as the tip of Eames’ nose pushed alongside his own.  
For a few seconds the just stayed there, Arthur pushed back by Eames, mouths pressed close and staring at each other. Then Eames moved his lips a little, coaxed Arthur’s mouth open and his grip on Arthur’s neck tightened. He tilted his head sideways so he could cover Arthur’s mouth fully and Arthur let out a startled noise, his hands flying up to grip Eames’ arms. Then. Eames exhaled right into Arthur’s mouth.  
It tasted strange and dry still, but somehow even hotter than Arthur had remembered, and it was _Eames_ holding him still while Arthur choked on panicked breaths through his nose as his heart started to pump so loudly in his ears, he was afraid Eames could hear it. Eames’ eyes were still open as if to make sure this wasn’t a real kiss, and this way Arthur could watch them turn calculating, wondering. Then there was the hot-wet-slide-touch of a tongue to Arthur’s and he was so caught off guard, he inhaled all of the breath Eames blew into his mouth. It burned in his throat and he felt that familiar tickle, the urge to cough, but it was far lighter than Arthur had feared and easily ignored.

For a few moments he managed to hold in his breath, Eames’ tongue still touching his and it felt scorching hot and Arthur couldn’t help but imagine it elsewhere. A whine rose up in his throat when Eames’ thumb stroked lightly over the thin skin behind his ear, a little gesture as if to say good-bye. Then Eames retreated, leaned back and let go of where he’d cupped Arthur’s face.  
Their surroundings slowly regaining their substance, Arthur only now realized that Eames’ knees were pressed into the edge of the couch where Arthur’s thighs were parted for him. Too many emotions were flickering over his face for Arthur to catch them all but he was sure he’d seen desire there, hot and molten and dark, as well as something soft, something that wasn’t supposed to be there. When he finally exhaled, the scratch in his throat made him cough at last, thankfully breaking their eye-contact in the process.  
»That wasn’t so bad, was it?«, Eames asked and got up, his voice light and chipper. Too light. Arthur’s face burned. »Alright, I’m gonna go now and steal a few more kisses – have a reputation of a thief to maintain, after all.«

And with that he was just gone and left Arthur gaping at the spot he’d occupied seconds before. Yusuf sighed heavily next to him. Arthur slowly turned towards him, for once grateful for the alcohol slowing his system down a bit, because otherwise he would’ve had to find something to cover his crotch now. »He isn’t _really_ a thief though, is he?«  
His words were a bit slurred, but Yusuf seemed to understand him well enough. »Not anymore, he’s not. I mean, I’m sure he nicks something here and there when he wants to, but not in the way he did back then, thankfully. Not in the way that could get him into trouble _big time_.«  
Arthur frowned, his body strangely limp and relaxed, so he slumped back into the backrest again, his head lolling a bit even as he tried to keep his eyes on Yusuf. »You’re joking right? What could he possibly have stolen to get into that much trouble?«  
»Oh, mostly art, if I remember correctly. Like, famous art, real art in museums and stuff«, Yusuf said shrugging and put the half-burnt joint down by the ashtray, his voice just that little bit more hushed than before, like he seriously didn’t want everyone to hear. »Eames is a proper little artist, he is amazing. He would fake whatever they were planning to steal so they could replace it and nobody would ever know it was stolen. As far as I know, he preferred paintings to objects, because the material is harder to face or shape or whatever, but maybe I remember that wrong. Could’ve been the other way around, you’d have to ask that Eames yourself.«  
»But … I don’t … but … why?« Arthur was having serious trouble wrapping his head around this. He’d thought the theft-thing was another one of Eames’ stories, just something he’d mentioned and some people had gossiped about it until it was more fiction than reality. Yusuf should’ve warned him beforehand, what were the chances?  
»How do you think he can manage without student loans?«, Yusuf said like stealing art was a perfectly logical, and very obvious conclusion to avoid having to pay back student loans. »He has to have gotten his money _somewhere_.«  
Well, yes, but Arthur’d thought it was something slightly more sensible. Like – Eames’ family was all old money; Eames had a sugar-daddy; Eames had won the lottery. Stuff like that, stuff that seemed just far more likely. Okay, maybe he’d gone a bit overboard by that sugar-daddy-suggestion but it still made more sense than Eames being a skilled and most likely wanted art-thief with a prison-sentence waiting on him should he ever get caught.

Arthur had to take a few moments to process this. When he looked up again, a new thought crossing his mind, the joint had somehow disappeared and Yusuf had his eyes on Ariadne, where she was talking to some girl, swaying to the rhythm of the music.  
»Why’d he stop?«, Arthur asked with a frown. If Eames had been successful enough to make good money with this art-theft-thing, then why even bother with university? Why didn’t he just go on until he had enough to live comfortable for the rest of his life?  
A dark frown appeared on Yusuf’s brow at that, not so much unlike the one he’d had going on when Eames had shotgunned Arthur. Maybe this was his ‘concerned’-frown. »It was the … the people working in that, uhm, profession. He had to work with people, who were bad at their job, or people selling members of the team out, or people not caring about the risks they put others in. One time it went tits up _bad_ and Eames stopped after that. Not as stupid as he acts sometimes, is he?«  
Arthur pursed his lips in thought, something tugging at his memory. »A couple of weeks ago, I … he had this bruise in his face. And I just thought it was a stupid bar fight or whatever Eames tends to do with his free time, but … was that … is he still doing jobs like that? Are you sure, he’s stopped?«  
Yusuf’s lips tightened and he looked from where is gaze had been glued to Ariadne down into his lap, an unhappy sigh almost inaudible. »Sometimes. I don’t think he knows, I notice, but … maybe he’s short on money. And I don’t think he deliberately takes the riskier jobs, I think he tries to pick the ones that are less risky. But sometimes the idea of someone crossing him just doesn’t even occur to him.« Yusuf snorted and shook his head, looking up at Arthur sadly. »A deeply suspicious person he is, but somehow he still manages to treat all the wrong people with naïveté.«

A few minutes later Ariadne came over to them and planted herself in Yusuf’s lap, her feet propped up so she could dig them into Arthur’s thighs. »What’s going on here? You two seem far too broody for a party like this.«  
»Maybe you should cheer me up then«, Yusuf suggested with a smirk and tugged on one lock of dark brown hair.  
Ariadne giggled drunkenly and leaned into him, her eyes on Arthur. »And what about him? How should we cheer up Arthur, then?«  
Yusuf snorted. »Arthur isn’t exactly the cheery type, I don’t think I’ve seen him crack a smile more than five times and even now – he’s high, at least a bit, and he’s still not grinning like a loon. I don’t know what’s wrong with him.«  
»We should find Professor Cobb. That would cheer Arthur up«, Ariadne suggested slyly and winked. Arthur just groaned and buried his head in his hands. He felt dizzy and everything was strangely fluffy like he could just sink into it and never get up again, gazing at the universe above and trying to understand it. Or Eames. Maybe he could spend his life trying to understand the universe _and_ Eames. Yeah, that seemed like a good idea.

»I’m gonna go now«, he announced and stumbled a little when he got up. Dammit he hadn’t planned on being drunk tonight. On the other side, exams were over now, so he was allowed. Hopefully Robert hadn’t brought anyone home to celebrate, he didn’t think he could handle coming into a room smelling of sex, alcohol and sweat right now, he might actually throw up.  
Damned shotgun.  
»You’ll be coming home okay?«, he asked Ariadne, just to make sure since she clearly had no intention of accompanying him. She was curled into Yusuf’s lap by now and blinked one big brown eye at him, twinkling in amusement.  
»Yes, dad.«  
Arthur snorted and tipped his head in goodbye before making his way through the people stuffing the room. He felt sweaty and hot and he knew he stank of smoke and weed and alcohol, but at least this party didn’t feel as much of a disaster as the last one had.

That was until he saw Eames leaning against a wall by the door, a girl in front of him with her hand on his chest and a guy leaning next to him, far too close to be just ‘friendly’ anymore. Oh, right. He remembered Eames saying something about ‘stealing kisses’ before. Or had it been ‘stealing hearts’? He wasn’t entirely sure, but that wasn’t the point anyway. The point was, that Arthur had to get by them to get to his (hopefully puke-free) jacket. Maybe Eames wouldn’t notice him squeezing by them. Hopefully Eames _would_ notice. He wasn’t sure what it was exactly he hoped for and hesitated to push his way past them, his brain too confused to make a decision just yet. Maybe there was another way to get to his jacket. One that didn’t involve having to watch Eames being touched by strangers and making Arthur feel hot around the collar. Maybe he should just wait until they moved on. Possibly relocating to a bedroom. Arthur clenched his fists.  
Naturally that was the moment Eames chose to notice him.  
A smile broke on his face and he pushed the strangers out of the way lightly to open his arms and greet Arthur over-enthusiastically. »Darling!«

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Say hi on tumblr! http://dont-kill-my-darling.tumblr.com/
> 
> Disclaimer: Inception and its characters aren't mine


	7. Touch and Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uhm, welcome back if someone is still reading this ...  
> I feel really bad, and I'm sorry for the long wait. I had exams until last week and then I was writing but I didn't get it the way I wanted to and then I felt it was all out of character and rewrote the whole thing, so. Yeah. I'm not sure this is the best I could do, but it is the best of what I've written for this chapter, so I hope you like it?  
> Let me know what you think :)  
> Oh, and also, ths chapter is just Arthur, don't really know why, it just turned out this way.
> 
>  
> 
> Chapter title: Touch and Go - Ed Sheeran

\- **Arthur** -

There wasn’t a real excuse as to why Arthur reacted the way he did. Maybe it was the alcohol making him forget all manners. And. Rules of human interaction. Or society or something.  
When Eames opened his arms and smiled at him with that shit eating grin of his, like all the world were sunshine and rainbows, something inside Arthur’s brain just snapped. It had been too much of an emotional rollercoaster in the past few weeks for him to just keep on taking this anyway, especially since Arthur had all his life tried to keep emotions in check and never _never_ let them overwhelm him. Right now, though, his brain was clouded with weed and alcohol and frustration, and here was Eames beaming at him with his stupid mouth and his stupid twinkling eyes and his stupid shoulders all wide and open. Like he hadn’t just vanished after setting Arthur’s lips on fire, only to be found half an hour later, entirely too close to two complete strangers. He was just hopping from one victim to the next, like a fucking butterfly.  
Arthur might not be able to pinpoint what exactly had him reeling like this, but it felt absolutely justified to be pissed at Eames at the moment.

He could _feel_ his eye twitch and Eames only had a second for realization to hit him before Arthur had fisted his shirt and pulled him in, making him stumble in the process. He was almost sure he could hear cloth tearing. Eames seemed too much in shock to utter a word of protest, not to mention the teasing Arthur’d been half-sure he’d receive. Instead Eames just let himself be dragged up the short flight of stairs and into the dark hallway Arthur had found before, to store his jacket in.  
»Arthur, what – «, Eames finally regained his ability to talk, only to be cut off by Arthur the very next moment.  
»Shut up«, he growled as he pushed against Eames’ chest until he hit the wall behind him fairly ungentle. Arthur hadn’t meant for his push to be quite that hard, but Eames didn’t seem to mind. His eyes were wide, mouth hanging open and hands hanging limply by his sides. Arthur was barely able to find a ring of blue where his pupils were blown wide and had swallowed up almost all of his irises. Eames didn’t put up any resistance at all, when Arthur grabbed the collar of his shirt again. No, he even spread his legs a little bit to make room for Arthur as he stepped closer and the sound of his dry swallowing was loud and clear in the air between them.

Arthur felt like some plaything Eames had played with for weeks on end, and now it had come to life out of pure, burning frustration. For once the roles were reversed, seeing as Arthur was the one who had Eames’ back up against the wall with no way out. Only. Eames seemed far less concerned and bothered by that, than Arthur would’ve thought. Instead of trying to break free, break Arthur’s hold on him and push back, Eames just stayed where Arthur’d pinned him, breath coming fast and shallow, his face open and almost expectant, like he knew what was going to happen even though Arthur didn’t. He hadn’t exactly planned this, or thought this through, at all. This was just. Reacting.  
They were close enough for Eames’ hot breath to hit him now, and Arthur’s hands shook from the effort – of holding him against the wall, or of holding back, he didn’t know. He only lasted a few seconds anyway, then his body surged forward like Eames held some magnetic pull Arthur couldn’t resist. His grip on Eames’ collar tightened but he was no longer pushing him back, it was more holding on to him than anything.

Eames’ lips were still surprisingly firm for how plush and soft they looked, just like Arthur remembered. They tasted of liquor and weed and smoke when Arthur ran his tongue over them, not caring about how he was pretty much asphyxiating both of them with the way he was pushing their faces together. Eames stood frozen for a moment, then his hands came up from where they were hanging uselessly at his sides, and took a hold on the back of Arthur’s neck, fingertips pressing almost painfully into the sensitive skin there, pulling him even closer. His breath sounded raw and raspy with the way he was sucking air in every time Arthur gave him the slightest chance to. It was all a hot slide of lips and tongues and teeth, and Arthur had to repress a full-body-shudder at the sensations coursing and prickling through his nerve-endings.  
He was tired of fighting back; how could he, when giving in felt this good? Without consciously deciding to, his hands started pulling and pushing up Eames’ shirt, fingers pressing in and sliding over a flat, warm stomach, not as hard as he’d expected but scorching hot under his palms and he could feel the vibrations from the deep groan emanating from Eames’ chest and, fuck, _that sound_. This was just unfair, Eames was doing everything – consciously or not – to prevent Arthur from thinking clearly. It wasn’t even a choice anymore, he couldn’t simply _choose_ to not let Eames play him like an instrument; instead he found himself giving in to all of it. It didn’t feel like he was doing what Eames wanted him to do, it didn’t feel like anything actually. The only thing he felt was this burning _need_ to break Eames down, to have him as wrecked and all over the place as Arthur felt so often in Eames’ presence.  
Okay, maybe he had expected Eames to fight a bit, but Eames apparently didn’t even think of pushing back, he just … just took whatever Arthur gave him. 

Eames hissed against Arthur’s lips when he curled his fingers, fingernails digging into the soft skin of Eames’ stomach, just above his bellybutton. His hips pushed back into Arthur’s hands, made contact with Arthur’s and despite being fairly intoxicated and high, he could feel Eames half-hard in his trousers.  
Arthur didn’t think, couldn’t think, his head was spinning and everything was reduced to heat and hands and skin. His shirt was being pulled down, exposing half of his left shoulder and collarbone, when Eames’ hands dropped down to his hips, fisting in the fabric as he tugged Arthur forward and closer to him. One of his hands was trapped between them now and Arthur dragged it down, slipped his fingers under the waistband of Eames’ jeans and tugged on it, until his hand could dip inside.  
»Fuck … Arthur- _fuck_ «, Eames gasped into Arthur’s mouth and clutched his hips even harder, Arthur almost sure he’d have bruises tomorrow. When he finally got his fingers wrapped around Eames, he bucked against Arthur and he had to dig his fingers into Eames’ ribs to keep him in place and not lose his hold around him.

Eames was panting when Arthur pulled back a few inches to watch his face and when he opened his eyes slowly, almost lazily, something heady and hot was burning right under his skin. The slim ring of greyish blue was glazed over, his cheeks flushed feverish, lips swollen and slick like Arthur’s, which only served to make him want to bite them again. There was a sense of wonder detectable under the heat and want radiating off of Eames and the longer they stayed frozen like this the stronger it became. But. Arthur didn’t feel like thinking about the reasons of him having his hand down Eames’ pants right now.  
Which is why he tightened his grip and rubbed his thumb over the underside as good as he could manage within the restrictiveness of his half-opened pants. Eames’ eyes fluttered closed and he bit his lower lip in an effort to muffle the soft sounds tumbling from his mouth and no. This wasn’t fair. Arthur had wanted to do that. He leant in again, pressed up against Eames which trapped his hand between them once more but he didn’t care, couldn’t think, not when he reached those lips and tugged the bottom one free from Eames’ teeth. There was an almost inaudible whine, panted against his mouth and Arthur was licking his way into Eames’ mouth before he knew it. He ran his tongue along the uneven row of front teeth and swallowed every single one of those needy sounds that made their way up Eames’ throat. Strong hands were gripping him by the back of his shirt, pressing into the small of his back, and pulling him in until Arthur was sure Eames had to feel at least halfway crushed against the wall. He didn’t seem to care though, not with the way his hips were making startled little thrusts into Arthur’s hand.  
»C’mon … « He tore free from Arthur’s mouth and then there were plush, slick lips sucking heated lines down his throat, and Arthur automatically dropped his head sideways to grant him better access. Eames tugged on his shirt once again and ran his hands up and down Arthur’s torso like he couldn’t decide where to touch him first, his hips thrusting insistently into Arthur’s firm grip all the while.

Arthur moved the hand that was still curled around Eames’ hard, hot length, as much as possible, but it was kind of hard since Eames’ jeans weren’t exactly tight but still clung to his hips like they’d been made for him. Impatiently Arthur pushed on them until they slid a bit further down and gave him more range of movement. Eames sighed in relief when Arthur could finally wrap his fingers properly around him, silky soft skin stretched over heat and hardness. Then there were suddenly teeth nipping at the sensitive skin of his pulse point and Arthur gasped, the rush of blood making his head spin and Eames had his hands around Arthur’s hips and – now it was him up against the wall. Once again. He gripped Eames’ hair and tugged hard in retaliation, and Eames hissed in pain. There was fumbling and tugging on the button of Arthur’s pants, and before he knew it Eames was ripping them open, Arthur almost sure he’d heard the button spring off. Before he could regain the ability to speak to voice his protest (he had quite liked those trousers, thank you very much) Eames had put his hand down Arthur’s pants and all he was capable of now, was biting his tongue to repress the embarrassing whining noise rising up in his throat. This – he’d gone an entirely too long amount of time without this. Not that his own hand wasn’t efficient or anything, but somehow he’d forgotten how it felt to be touched by someone else and now it was threatening to melt his brain structure with how good it felt.

Eames’ fingers were warm and rough on him as they slid down his full length first, exploring and curious, before they curled around him and were dragged up where there was a thumb pressing over the head. Arthur could see spots of black appearing in his vison from the way he was holding his breath to keep in all the noises bubbling up. Eames’ lips were hot on his neck and he was sure he’d find a dark bruise tomorrow.  
There wasn’t that much light in here, which was why, when he looked down from where he was staring at the ceiling, Eames was reduced to only a smudge of dark. His touch on the other hand, seemed more prominent than ever. Arthur was aware his mouth had dropped open by now and he could faintly hear the _thump_ when he let his head fall back against the wall behind him, once again, Eames’ mouth eagerly making its way down his throat. Everything was dark and spinny and hot and slick and it was making Arthur dizzy, so he closed his eyes and tried to exhale without it sounding like a sigh. The angle was still awkward, no matter how blindingly good that hand around him felt, and Eames apparently got frustrated a lot faster than Arthur. With a huff and a small bite to Arthur’s throat as though this was all his fault, Eames let go of him.

The pathetic sound of annoyance he made at that, sounded entirely too loud between them, and he opened his eyes wide, staring into the air in front of him in embarrassment, but thankfully Eames didn’t react to it in any way. Instead he circled Arthur’s wrist and pulled his hand out of his own pants, and why the hell would he do that? He spun Arthur around so he was facing the wall, and no matter how confused he was right now, his hands flew up automatically to stabilize him against the wall anyway. His head was still spinning slightly when he registered Eames tugging on his jeans until they were hanging somewhere around his thighs, and the satisfied sound he made somewhere by Arthur’s shoulder was the only warning he got, then Eames was crowding up on him, lips hot and slick on the back of his neck whilst his hands dipped into Arthur’s underwear again, only this time with far less difficulty.  
Arthur’s breath hitched and his arms gave out, his face now pressed sideways to the scratchy wallpaper even as Eames pulled his hips back so they weren’t in any contact with the wall. Presumably to ensure his hand could move as freely as he wanted it to, and not to prevent Arthur from having his cock crushed against the wall, but it was nice either way. He dug his fingers into the wall, scrambling for purchase, but Eames was pushing against his back, holding him the way he liked, and Arthur was more acutely aware of the size difference than ever. Height-wise, Eames barely had anything on him, but he’s got wider shoulders, thicker arms. Which meant, all Arthur could do, was push back against the wall in order to not to get crushed in between. With a shift of his hips and a tug on Arthur, Eames’ length was pressing into him and it had sharp pinpricks of arousal coursing through him, a breathless moan escaping him as a result. Eames gave a particularly insistent push of his hips, accompanied by a devilish twist of his wrist, and the whimper Arthur was trying to muffle by biting his lip was _definitely_ audible.

»Fucking hell … « Eames’ breath was coming in sharp pants, washing hot over the damp skin in the back of Arthur’s neck where he’d had his lips before, and every now and then he could hear something akin to a hoarse moan tumbling out of him. Arthur dug the fingers of one hand into the wallpaper, probably leaving indents where his nails sunk in a bit, leaned forward until his forehead was resting against the wall and reached behind him to hold onto Eames – any part of Eames really. His shaky fingers brushed over the soft hair on Eames’ forearm where he was working his hand over Arthur at a dizzying pace, the soft crook of his elbow and then there were his hips. Eames’ breath stuttered behind him and his rhythm faltered for a second when Arthur’s nails scratched uselessly at the rough fabric of his jeans before sliding up and finally finding skin where his shirt had ridden up.  
»E-Eames«, Arthur managed weakly, his throat feeling dry and on fire, just like the rest of him. The touch of Eames’ palm wrapped around his cock too raw, too dry but stopping just wasn’t an option anymore at this point, not when it had his toes curling like this. Eames’ hips swivelled and, _god_ he could feel the hard curve of his cock sliding between his cheeks, underwear the only barrier separating skin from skin. »Shit, I – I … _Eames_!«

And somehow in all this haze of dizziness and heat and want, to his fuzzy brain the only logical outcome of this, was Eames fucking him against this wall. Right now. He couldn’t find any reason why that would be a bad idea at the moment and his hands were already tugging on Eames’ boxers anyway. He could find the hard indent of a hipbone and then impossibly soft, smooth skin leading down to coarse hair and that – yeah.  
Eames made a muffled sound that may or may not have been a bastardized version of Arthur’s name, mumbled into the space between his shoulder blades, but Arthur couldn’t really pay attention to that right now. »C’mon, Eames, just – _f-fuck_ – yeah, that’s – _c’mon_!«  
There was a breathless chuckle and a warm gush of air over his right shoulder, Eames’ hand still working him, slowing down a fraction, and he tilted his hips just so, making Arthur lose his shaky grip on him entirely so that he was holding on to nothing but soft t-shirt-fabric now. A hard, heavy chin was hooked over his shoulder and Eames’ lips brushed his ear, making him shiver, as his voice spilled dark and warm. »Now, now, no need for such impatience, darling.«  
»Eames!«, Arthur gritted out and would’ve glared at him, had another expertly twist of his wrist not have his head falling forward and mouth opening in a silent plea. He wanted Eames to just fucking do it already, the mere thought of that hot, hard length sliding in and out of him, had him throbbing and he was pretty sure he’d be dripping on the floor by now, if it weren’t for Eames’ hand spreading the precome all over him expertly. At least the dryness wasn’t a problem anymore. »Just …f-fuck me already, get on with it, would you?«

A sharp intake of breath and for a moment Arthur was sure he’d shocked Eames, until there was the soft brush of hair as Eames shook his head. His slick, soft lips were stretched into a smile, Arthur could feel it against the side of his neck, when he said: »I’m not fucking you against a wall on a sleazy house party while you’re drunk and high off your arse, darling.«  
Arthur glared at the darkness in front of him and pushed insistently back against Eames’ cock in the hopes it would slide between his cheeks just as it had before. »W-what? Why? That’s not – _oh!_ «  
Eames’ free hand had slipped from where it’d ben gripping his hip and holding him in place, to the back of his left thigh and then up, up, under the fabric of Arthur’s briefs where he spread his fingers wide and took a hold of his bum. And squeezed lightly. Arthur’s breath was wheezing out of him like someone had punched him and Eames actually bit down on his shoulder, teeth a little less sharp and painful through the shirt he was wearing. That – that – yeah. He couldn’t care less about the tiny mewling noises spilling out and lingering in the air between them, all he could think about how he wanted Eames to do that again, how he was embarrassingly close to coming from just a hand on his ass, and how perfectly Eames’ hand was cupping him. »Less clothes, more touching«, he gasped out and tried to steady himself once again, his mind still fuzzy and working far slower than usual.

»Arthur … « The chuckle was warm, damp breath ghosting over the side of his neck and Arthur couldn’t wait to find out how it would feel on parts of his body that were now covered in clothing. The hand on his bum relinquished its hold, fingers stroking carefully, almost gentle and no, no this wasn’t what Arthur’d wanted. Hadn’t he made that clear mere seconds ago?  
»What’re you doing?«, he asked irritated and wriggled a little, prompting Eames to grab him just like before.  
»Eager, aren’t we?« The teasing tone irritated Arthur even more and _why wasn’t Eames getting on with it?_ He made a frustrated sound and hoped Eames would take the hint, shut up and fuck him already. »I told you – I’m not doing it, not like this.«  
Arthur pulled his head up so it wasn’t resting against the wall anymore and almost knocked Eames in the face. »Why the hell not?«, he bit out, his face burning, and did his best to glare at Eames, even though he had to twist his neck awkwardly.  
Eames blinked, his eyes wide and obviously a bit taken aback. »I. Uhm, I want to do this right … ?« And what the hell, he didn’t even seem so sure of that himself, it sounded more like a question than anything else.  
»The fuck do you care?«, Arthur snapped at him, facing the wall again, his face positively on fire by now and he was sure Eames could see how red his ears had gone. This was all Eames’ fault, why did he have to make this so complicated? Arthur’s throat was strangely tight when he said: »Just ‘nother lay, get on with it now, will you?«

There was a beat of silence, pressing on Arthur’s ears, which was weird in and of itself, since there should’ve been loud, pounding music, shouldn’t there? Then Eames was clearing his throat awkwardly and before Arthur knew it, he’d pulled away, leaving Arthur confused and cold and slightly lost. It took him a moment before he recognized the shuffling sounds as Eames pulling his clothes back into the right places and he turned his burning face into the wallpaper, squeezing his eyes shut. He couldn’t turn around, his fingers were still curled into the wallpaper holding on for dear life.  
»See you around«, Eames said and his voice was strangely quiet and cold. Distant, like he’d been with Nash. Then he was gone and Arthur’s pants were still hanging just above his knees and he was cold. He could still feel a phantom of where Eames’ hot length had slid against him. Why was he so cold?

Jerkily he pulled his pants back up and closed them, discovering that Eames hadn’t ripped the button off after all, but it’d been a close thing. It was considerably looser than before. He tugged his shirt until it was hanging off if him the way it was supposed to, only the collar felt a little wider and Arthur had the sneaking suspicion Eames might’ve ripped the seams a bit … not that it really mattered.  
He groped blindly in the dark until he found his jacket, zipped it up to his chin and then made his way down the short flight of stairs, Eames thankfully nowhere in sight. He did find Ariadne and Yusuf though, hands linked and faces mashed together in a corner by the kitchen. Without interrupting them he stumbled further towards the door.

He felt sick, his stomach was churning and he was uncomfortably close to throwing up when he unsteadily stepped outside. His head was swimming and his mouth tasted awful, even his hands were shaking slightly where he held onto the collar of his jacked. That party had gone completely the wrong way and he should probably be thankful for not having had sex for the first time drunk, high and against a goddamn wall. And with Eames of all people. Yeah. That’d have been. Terrible. Right? Right.

So then why did he feel so awful?

 

 

»I hate you«, Arthur groaned, his throat sore as he pulled his extra pillow tighter over his head, even though it did nothing to muffle the loud music Robert was cheerfully listening to. »You’re Satan.«  
»Good morning to you, too, sweetheart«, Robert replied far too chipper this early in the day.  
»Cut it out«, Arthur whined and burrowed as deep as possible into his bed, but no matter how tightly he curled in on himself, the music was still blasting loud enough to make his brain vibrate inside his skull. It felt like cracking any minute now. »I’m going to fucking kill you.«  
»Aw, is this bothering you?«, Robert’s voice was laced with mock concern and Arthur knew he was full on pouting, he didn’t have to see his face for that.  
Huffing he turned around and scowled at him between the pillows he had wrapped around his head, which was spinning slightly and it was only when the sickening feeling subsided, that he realized he’d been scowling at some point left of Robert’s face instead of directly at him. Well, hello, hangover. »Dunno, is it going to bother you when I stab you to death?«

Robert only tutted and shook his head. »You shouldn’t be playing those plotless, unnecessarily violent video games, they’re not good for your blood pressure.«  
» _You’re_ not good for my blood pressure«, Arthur glared and tried one last time pressing the pillows over his ears to block the blasting music out. It didn’t help one bit. »And they do have a plot, you ignorant bastard.«  
The only response to that were lifted eyebrows and a slow motion of his hand, gripping the controller and turning up the volume. Arthur groaned pitifully and threw his pillow at him, hitting him square in the face with it. That managed to at least startle him a bit, even if the music was still unmercifully loud.

With a sigh Arthur sat up and winced when his stomach lurched. »Oh god … «  
»Don’t you dare throw up in here«, Robert warned him sternly. »When I so much as see you gag, I’m gonna throw up as well and that’ll all be on you, which in effect also makes you responsible for cleaning it up.«  
»Stop talking about vomit«, Arthur said weakly and pressed his palms to his pounding temples, in an attempt to hold his skull together, which was threatening to just split and spill his brains all over the floor. »I hate everything.«  
»Never thought, I’d see you with a hangover like this«, Robert said, amusement clear in his voice. Not an ounce of sympathy though. When Arthur looked up he was holding a bottle of water and a small white pill out to him.  
»Remember when you came home so drunk, you tried to sleep in my bed?«, Arthur asked after swallowing the pill and gulping down half of the water bottle in one go. »Or when I had to come carry you up the stairs because you couldn’t walk yourself, and as soon as you entered the room you ran to the window to throw up? Or when you had that break-up and slept with that bottle of tequila clutched – «  
»Yeah, okay, I get it«, Robert cut in with a roll of his impossibly blue eyes. »I was an asshole, I know. But you weren’t exactly nice to me on either of those occasions, so I’m not gonna pity you now.«

»I lied when the people below demanded to know who’d thrown up onto their balcony!«., Arthur pointed out indignantly. »And I made you drink a litre of water so you wouldn’t be hungover the next morning _so_ many times, I can’t even count them.«  
Robert sniffed and shrugged, turning back to his music. »You smell like a brewery. And weed.«  
Emptying the water bottle and rolling his eyes, Arthur dug out his towel and went over to the bathroom to take a shower. Afterwards, his mouth blissfully tasted of nothing other than toothpaste, and otherwise squeaky clean as well, Arthur felt far more human already. With that came remembering though, and now he wasn’t really sick to his stomach but there was still that queasy feeling and the dull throb of his temples. He’d really fucked up with Eames, hadn’t he? It wasn’t even like hadn’t meant what he’d said to him, but it might’ve come out the wrong way. Or Eames had taken it the wrong way. He hadn’t even had that much to drink yesterday; it had to have been the weed that had fucked him up so much. God what even was that stuff? He’d felt great and fuzzy and warm and then it had turned to impatience, nerves and temper. Eames had behaved like a proper slut, right, so Arthur’s reaction was completely justified and – who was he kidding, he’d screwed up big time yesterday. Not only the part where he’d made it abundantly clear he wanted Eames, no matter how many times he’d told himself he didn’t, but also he’d managed to hurt or at least insult Eames enough to get him to stop getting off and – how did he even manage that?

Thing was, Arthur wasn’t a soft spoken kind of person. He said what he wanted to say, straightforward and blunt. There was no way of talking around it and making it sound better (or worse) than it actually was and he mostly couldn’t handle the way most people went about it, because what was so difficult with saying what you meant? Back there, back at the party, Arthur had said what he’d thought. And normally Arthur didn’t feel bad about it, it was part of who he was, he wasn’t going to apologize for that.  
But this felt different. Like he’d been _unnecessarily_ rude or harsh, and he knew he’d done that on purpose. He’d wanted to insult Eames, he’d wanted it to be cruel. He’d wanted to push Eames as far away from him as possible, on an emotional level, so he wouldn’t read into things. Only now, thinking about it, it didn’t make much sense and that uneasy feeling of guilt was starting to piss him off for real now. He wanted it gone.

In the afternoon Ariadne called and he had to listen to every detail of how Yusuf had kissed her last night and how they’d be going on a date next Tuesday (»haven’t you been dating for the last couple of weeks, though?« »That’s different, that was friendly, whereas now it’s romantic, Arthur, honestly. Keep up.«) and basically just how great Yusuf in general was (»He’s got these eyes, I tell you … and his hair, oh god, those curls, it’s ... « and so on, and so on). He dodged her questions of how he’d liked the party and where he’d vanished so early on, by asking more details about Yusuf. For the rest of the day he stayed in bed contemplating how (and if?) he should make it up to Eames.  
The following week he saw Eames three times exactly, but each time he got either ignored or flooded with false smiles and snide remarks, and by the end of it Arthur was ready to throw a fit. How was he supposed to apologize, when Eames hardly even gave him a chance to open his mouth? He even went to one of Eames’ practicing hours for his play but embarrassingly got carried away and couldn’t really muster the courage to stick around after and catch Eames on his way out. Instead he’d fled and tried not to think about the way Eames had looked on that stage the whole night. He had only halfway succeeded.

The semester would be ending next week and he was still unsure as to whether or not to visit his Mum and Rich, plus the Eames-Situation was weighing him down enough for even Ariadne in her loved up haze to notice. The good- or rather _convenient_ thing about this was, that he knew where Eames lived, so he couldn’t just tell himself, he hadn’t seen Eames around and therefore had no way to contact him.  
Which was why Arthur was standing outside Eames’ door a few days later, debating if he should knock or just walk away and pretend it never happened. He didn’t owe Eames anything. Right?

The decision was made for him when the door swung open and Eames, barefoot and clad in nothing but grey sweatpants with a lot of holes in it, and a white t-shirt, appeared with what looked like a bag of trash in his hand. He looked startled for a moment, then his expression morphed into one of careful indifference and Arthur almost sighed.  
»Why hello, Arthur, what are you doing here?«, Eames drawled and Arthur winced at the lack of endearment. Why knew his name could sound this icy?  
»I, uh, wanted to talk to you?« It sounded more like a question than an actual answer but he couldn’t help it.  
Eames pulled a sceptical face. »If you’re here to get you dick sucked, I’m terribly sorry, but I have to decline. I’m kinda busy at the moment, so you’re gonna have to find someone else. My apologies.«

Arthur watched Eames stomp down the stairs without giving him a chance to reply, guilt twisting in his stomach, but he didn’t budge and waited for Eames to come back. He’d come here to do this, he wouldn’t just give up now because Eames didn’t seem very eager to hear him out. It took almost ten minutes but when he finally came into view again, Arthur could smell the smoke and that was explanation enough.  
»What d’you want, Arthur?«, Eames asked and now his tone was almost exasperated. »Talk? Don’t you think there’s really been enough said?«  
Arthur ducked his head and shrugged. »I wanted to apologize. For – for saying, uhm, that.«  
There was a long pause and when Arthur looked up Eames was staring at him with a furrowed brow. »You did mean it, though, didn’t you?«  
»Uhm… «

Arthur wasn’t really sure what to say to that, because he hadn’t come here to lie, but just saying ‘yes’ seemed all wrong, too. Eames’ expression slowly, very slowly, went from ‘annoyed and bored’ to ‘really pissed off’.  
»You know what, Arthur? I really don’t care, it’s fine«, Eames said with a smile so false it must’ve hurt to force it onto his face. »I accept your … apology. You can go now. Scoot.«  
Okay, so now that was uncalled for. Arthur furrowed his brow and watched him wearily. He could tell Eames was lying, it wasn’t like he’d made any effort to hide the false friendliness in his voice, but … »Eames«, he began hesitantly but was cut off immediately when Eames’ expression morphed into dangerously pissed off, his eyes narrowed and his mouth pulled into something like a sneer. Why was he still so devastatingly attractive?  
»You know, I haven’t exactly given you any reason to think of me like you obviously do«, he said, his voice still surprisingly calm for how angry he looked. »Yes, I like going out and flirting as much as the next guy, but you seem to think I’m the biggest arsehole on the planet just because I didn’t stop talking to you after you glared at me for the first time.« Eames stared at him, hard, and Arthur almost lowered his gaze. He was aware of that, thank you very much, that was exactly the reason why he was here, wasn’t it? He wasn’t going to back down now.  
»Oh, and then there’s the fact that you basically called me a whore and that’s … I don’t even know, Arthur, I don’t even know. Whatever. I guess, I just know what people like, and that’s not the same as fucking everything I can get my hands on, but. It’s not like that’d matter to you, does it? You’re just perfect little Arthur, so much _better_ than everyone else.« His chest was close to heaving, the white t-shirt spread over his shoulders perfectly and the dark ink-swirls on his bicep stood out even more. Eames looked glorious in his anger and Arthur felt his throat tighten in frustration, shame and want alike.

»I’m not«, he said and hated how quiet his voice sounded but he was sure Eames could hear him anyway. »I don’t … I didn’t think you’d, uhm, care. I guess. Like, you just do whatever you like anyway, right, so why … why would you care what I think of you.« He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly and shrugged a little helplessly, his eyes trained on some point between Eames’ face and his shoulder. »So. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, ah, call you a whore or anything, it’s just … you could, alright? You could go around and sleep with everyone on campus, and I’m sorry I just assumed you would.«  
When he looked into Eames’ eyes again, he seemed to be chewing the inside of his lip contemplating and there was still something like anger, or at least hurt dignity in his eyes, but at least he didn’t seem on the verge of bodily removing Arthur from his doorstep anymore.  
»You know that’s bullshit, right?«, he finally said and Arthur blinked slowly, waiting for Eames to explain what he meant by that. »That logic doesn’t even make any sense – just because you can do something, doesn’t mean you automatically do it. There’s laws and shit to prevent that from happening. I could shoot you in the head – if I had a gun that is, but we’re in America, it’s not that hard to get my hands on a gun – but I obviously wouldn’t.«  
Arthur could feel his mouth curving up into a tentative smile, even when he tried not to. »Because you’d get in trouble for it, or because you wouldn’t want to actually kill somebody?«  
The left corner of Eames’ mouth twitched and he shrugged. »Bit of both, I think.«  
»Fair enough«, Arthur nodded and because he didn’t know what else to do, he pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

»You fancy tea?«, Eames blurted out and lifted one eyebrow daringly when Arthur looked at him in surprise.  
»Uhm. Yeah?« He hadn’t expected Eames to forgive him that quickly, he _had_ basically called him a whore after all, even if it had been under the influence of drugs and alcohol. Still, he dutifully followed Eames into his flat when he motioned for him to come in.

There was a pile of shoes that indicated where Arthur should put his when he’d gotten out of them. Eames didn’t have a hallway separating the door from the living room, and the living room was quite huge actually. There’s a shabby looking couch and a well-used loveseat in front of a TV, one corner of the room taken up by what looked to be a kitchen but the only things used for their intended purposes were apparently the microwave, the fridge and the kettle. There were messy, brightly coloured paintings all over the walls in different shapes, forms and sizes (probably to hide the hideous seventies-wallpaper Arthur could glimpse), two big windows and the floor was wood, covered in scratches from where there’d been heavy things moved around over the years. The rest of the walls were covered in shelves crammed with books, DVDs and CDs. By the TV were a few cables and controllers and he could see mugs and plates on every surface – no dining table, or anything of that sort, though – probably from yesterday or this morning, judging from how it wasn’t smelly at all (yet). Two doors were leading from the living room, bedroom and bathroom, Arthur guessed. It was … nice, actually. A bit messy, a bit homey and warm, a bit chaotic, and very Eames.

»You like movies, then?«, Eames asked when he came over after handling the kettle and found Arthur inspecting his DVDs.  
Arthur turned around, hands still in his pockets, and rocked back on the balls of his feet, biting his lip uncertainly. »I, uhm … « God, why was it so hard to talk to Eames about this? It had been a normal question, after all, and he was just watching Arthur, open and curious, not even nosey. »My, my dad was an actor, so … « He wasn’t even sure what he meant by that himself, but it seemed to be enough for Eames as he nodded, if a bit surprised.  
»He in anything I might know?«, he asked, his usual smile on his lips, but if Arthur wasn’t mistaken it seemed a bit softer, a bit more timid as if he was afraid to say something wrong. Which was ridiculous of course, it had been just a logical follow up question.

Arthur tasted blood when he bit the inside of his lip too hard and turned around, staring at an old copy of _The Rocky Horror Picture Show_ blankly. »Yeah, he, uhm, was in a few quite successful movies actually.« Eames didn’t say anything, just patiently waited, until Arthur pulled out a few DVDs and handed them to Eames. »He never had, like, the leading role or anything, but … he was getting there. People said he was very talented.«  
Eames stared down at the DVDs in his hands, his brow furrowed lightly. »Wait. Doug Hastings is your dad?«  
Arthur could feel Eames’ eyes burning holes into the side of his head but he couldn’t turn around and meet them. Eames would either look at him sceptical, or in awe, and he couldn’t handle either right now. »Was. He, ah, he died when I was eleven.« Eames, of course, knew that if he knew the name Doug Hastings, it had been all over the tabloids back then. Still, it had been Arthur’s dad, it was a bit more personal to him than to anyone else.  
»I’m … I’m sorry«, Eames said, uncertainty and sympathy clear in his voice. When Arthur chanced a look at him, Eames gave him a crooked sort of smile and then looked down to the DVDs still in his hands. »Wow, I had no idea. This is, like, serious Hollywood shit. I knew he had a family and all that, but they were kept very secret, weren’t they. Never saw a picture or a name or anything … «

Arthur nodded but didn’t really know what to say.  
When he was younger, he’d miss his dad and ask questions about him, but his mother used to say he was better off not understanding what his father was doing for a living. There had only been a few instances when Arthur had seen him on billboards or that one time on TV, and his mother had always just tugged him away or changed the channel, Arthur too young to really understand any of it or even watch those kinds of movies; he’d still been in a Disney-phase when his father had died. He’d used to pretend his dad was a spy, like James Bond, and saved the world on a regular basis, or maybe Batman, since the only thing he knew about James Bond was that he was British (which his dad wasn’t) and saving the world, mostly from evil German scientists. Batman on the other hand he knew lots about, read the comics and seen the movies his mother had allowed him to see. His dad never forgot Arthur’s birthday, but mostly wasn’t there to give him presents himself, instead he would sent them. He was lovely to Arthur when he was there though, and he always brought presents with him. Arthur had loved him and missed him terribly when he was gone again. They could never go outside together, which had been boring, but now made perfect sense of course, since Doug Hastings could hardly run around in public with the son, he’d never given up a name or a photo of. At least he’d always been there for Christmas and on most of his mother’s birthdays as well.

When Arthur was eleven, his father had drowned in his own pool, in his LA-Villa, two miles from where Arthur and his mother lived, only days after it was announced he’d play the villain in some popular, upcoming movie. It was unclear how he’d drowned, and Arthur’s mother never talked about it. It had probably been drugs, or depressions, something like that. Every time Arthur asked about it, his mother got this sad expression in her eyes and so Arthur’d stopped questioning after a while. Of course, then he got to know all about his father’s job, finally coming into an age where he could begin to understand it all. He’d looked him up on the internet, but reading stuff about him had only made Arthur question if he’d known this man that was his father at all.  
His mother had stayed adamant about him not being photographed and since he’d been eleven at the time, they had to edit his face out of every single picture they took – effectively making them worthless. Arthur wasn’t allowed to go to school for three months because there were paparazzi waiting on him to ask their questions which hadn’t been answered by the short statement Arthur’s mother had given a week after his father’s death: ‘his widow and child are in grieving and don’t want to comment’. Finally his mom had had enough and they’d packed their things, and moved to New Mexico, into a small town a few miles south of Santa Fe. The attention ebbed away and most of Arthur’s life from then on had been boring and normal, just the way he liked it. The name Hastings wasn’t that unusual after all, his new neighbours and school friends never made the connection and after a while it hadn’t felt that important anymore, anyway.  
The positive thing about having a dead, used-to-be-sort-of-famous dad was that he’d inherited quite a trust fund when he’d turned eighteen, so now the least of his worries was money.

»Jesus, wow, that was a cheerful topic«, Eames spoke up again and shook his head, as if he was trying to get rid of the thoughts surrounding said topic. When he met Arthur’s eyes there was still a small smile on his lips. »Let’s have tea, then.«  
Arthur followed slowly over to where Eames was handling the kettle, but he told him to »bloody sit down already« and so he did. Eames handed him a steaming cup of tea and sank down on the other end of the couch Arthur had chosen to sit on. Eames immediately slouched and shuffled around for a bit until he apparently found a position that may have his back aching in a few years time but seemed comfortable nonetheless. He smirked when he saw Arthur watching him and propped his feet up on the couch as well, one sock dark blue, the other one was striped red and white and had a hole by his big toe. He wriggled them and waggled his eyebrows in amusement when they brushed Arthur’s thigh. »Relax a bit, yeah? You’re not meeting the royal family, why are you sitting stuck-up like that?«

Arthur chose not to answer that and instead tried his tea. It was scalding hot and he’d still prefer coffee, but it wasn’t bad he decided and set it down on the small coffee table, before pulling his legs up and under him. He turned slightly so he was leaning his back into the corner where backrest and armrest of the couch met, Eames’ toes now for real pressed into his thigh, and watched Eames as he nipped at his tea primly and obviously teasing with the way his eyes were set on Arthur to make sure he was watching.  
»So«, Arthur said and Eames made an inquiring noise into his teacup. »Is it true you’ve been forging papers, handwritings and signings basically since you were a teenager?«, he asked curiously and Eames spluttered and inhaled his steaming hot tea. Arthur may or may not have felt a bit sorry for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Say hi on tumblr! http://dont-kill-my-darling.tumblr.com/
> 
> Disclaimer: Inception and its characters aren't mine


	8. Where'd you go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kudos!
> 
> All mistakes are mine, I don't have a beta. Hope you like it
> 
> Chapter title: Where'd you go - Fort Minor

\- **Eames** -

He was not quite sure how to handle this. It’s just … Arthur was right here, like, in his flat, on his couch, drinking his fucking tea. This was not a scenario he’d foreseen happening – _ever_ – so he, embarrassingly, was at a complete loss about what to do here. This not-dickish Arthur was just not what Eames was used to dealing with. He’d never have thought Arthur would end up sitting on his couch like this, how on earth could he have anticipated how to act now? Arthur was _relaxed_ , something Eames would’ve thought Arthur didn’t even know the concept of being. And he was just – nice? 

It was weird as fuck, but he couldn’t very well say that out loud. Not when Arthur finally seemed a bit at ease around him and no matter how lost Eames felt, he knew he liked this far too much to ruin it by asking stupid questions and startling Arthur into his usual, stick-in-the-mud-behaviour.

So he smiled and nodded and made Arthur tell him all the strange stories people around campus were telling each other about him. Most of them he had heard before of course, but there were always a few new ones and Arthur made him snort into his tea twice with laughter.

By the end the kettle was completely empty and Eames felt drunk from how many times Arthur’s dimples had flashed. He’d also had this odd experience of shortly panicking about the state of his bathroom, when Arthur’d gone to use it. He wasn’t sure when he’d last cleaned that bathroom … could one call it ‘cleaning’ when all he had done was scrubbing the stains from the mirror, rinse the tap and sweep the most obvious dirt out? Eames decided, yes, he could call that cleaning. And it hadn’t even been _that_ long ago. Besides, Arthur knew enough about him to not expect a squeaky clean bathroom, like he was probably used to, right?

»When’re you heading back home?«, Arthur asked while shrugging on his jacket. There was a dark strand of hair falling over his forehead, curling slightly in defiance of Arthur’s attempt at taming it with too much gel like always, and he was looking up at Eames through his lashes while fixing the collar of his jacket.

Eames wanted to hide Arthur’s gel just to see how much of a poodle he looked like without it. And then he wanted to pull him in by his stupidly well-tailored shirt and snog him senseless. »Uh … what?«

»When are you going home? Leaving?«, Arthur repeated, articulating each word with extra care, mocking Eames’ accent once again to make sure, it was clear he meant ‘going home to England’ and not just anywhere. He obviously assumed Eames _had_ a home over there. Eames found the way Arthur’s cupid-mouth pursed as he tried to copy Eames’ accent (badly) oddly hypnotizing.

»Dunno, don’t really have a plan«, Eames shrugged and tried to keep his eyes fixed on Arthur’s and not let them get distracted by how fine and capable Arthur’s pale hands looked. »I’ve still got the play next Friday, haven’t I? And my sister isn’t missing me half as much as she likes to tell me, so … dunno, in a few weeks, or so.« He didn’t plan on leaving immediately after the semester had officially ended, he kind of liked the campus empty and quiet.

»Oh!« Something lit up in Arthur’s eyes and his mouth curved upwards again, no dimple visible yet, but almost. »Your play is next Friday? Romeo and Juliet, right?«

Eames pulled a face and rolled his eyes. »Yeah. Surprise, right? They couldn’t have picked anything less boring, really.«

The left corner of Arthur’s mouth twitched and for the fraction of a second there was definitely a dimple pressed into the porcelain skin of his cheek. »I haven’t seen it, yet. I mean, I’ve read it obviously, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen it with, like, actors on a fancy stage and everything.«

Eames snorted. »Very fancy, indeed, young Arthur. Bad actors with worse costumes on the worst stage you’ve ever seen. How d’you know it was Romeo and Juliet?« The advertisement was shit, Eames was pretty sure they hadn’t even put up the posters yet. As far as he’d been informed the people that’d been tasked with it, were still ‘working on the concept, okay’. Like, what was there to do? Write ‘Romeo and Juliet’, the date and the time, and then print the whole thing. Maybe put in a few colours? Apparently smoking one or three bowls a day was very crucial to the working progress. Who knew.

»Oh, I, uhm, I … « Arthur seemed to blush and seemed almost guilty. He literally looked like Eames’d caught him with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar, an expression Eames hadn’t seen until now. He loved it. »I might’ve, ah, sat in on one of the rehearsals?«  
Eames made several attempts at replying but it ended with a simple: »Oh.« That was just – that was. Yeah. No. He hadn’t expected that.  
»Yeah«, Arthur said awkwardly and shrugged, and what? Arthur wasn’t awkward, not like this at least. Arthur was confident and level headed and he didn’t _do_ one time, just a few hours of Arthur behaving like a normal human being around him, and Eames was already giddy from the feeling of _domesticity_?  
»Pathetic, Eames. Just. Pathetic«, he murmured under his breath and picked up the mugs to drop them into the tab where they would stay for the foreseeable future.

Even though it was past five in the afternoon and he hadn’t had any lunch, yet, (Arthur had distracted and filled him up with stupidly small, bashful smiles, and dimples, and those little hand gestures during talking) Eames grabbed his sweats and shirt and made his way to the gym, where he punched a bag for hours until there was sweat beading and running down his back, soaking his shirt and making him shiver on his way back home.

 

Even though Arthur _had_ told him, he’d see him around, Eames hadn’t expected that to be true. Two days later he was over at Yusuf’s, busy stealing dough from the bowl Yusuf was making cookies of, when the doorbell rang, and suddenly there was Arthur’s voice mixed with Yusuf’s as he told him to come in. When he popped his head in the kitchen, Eames was still frozen whit his dough-covered finger halfway to his mouth, staring wide eyed and completely caught off guard back at Arthur’s dark, dark eyes.  
»Hey, there.«  
He wasn’t smiling, but his tone wasn’t hostile, so Eames just kept on blinking in confusion.  
»I _told_ you to keep away from my dough!«, Yusuf glared at him and pushed his hand with the dough-finger into his face, making Eames smudge dough all over his cheek and nose. »You promised me, you fucking arsehole!«

Eames opened and closed his mouth helplessly, his mind filled with _what the fuck is he doing here?_ , and _I haven’t washed my hair in three days_ , and _did I find the ketchup-stain on this shirt or did I throw it into the washing?_  
Arthur’s face didn’t change at all but Eames could still see the amusement twinkling in his coal-black irises.  
»Never trust a thief«, Eames retorted belatedly and sniffed primly, before shoving his finger into his mouth to suck the rest of the dough off. »Plus – did you really think you could keep me off of this? It tastes like it’s made from magic, mate.«  
Yusuf only glared darkly at him and muttered where exactly Eames could shove his flattery.  
»Why are you making cookies anyway?«  
»Because Ariadne said she wanted some when I told her I like to bake sometimes«, Yusuf said as nonchalantly as one can with an apron tied around his waist. To be fair though, he did wear that thing for his experiments as well, as a sort of substitute for a lab coat. His tanned skin could hide a blush very well but Eames was pretty sure he could see his cheeks darkening anyways. »So, when she leaves tonight, she’ll have fresh and still warm cookies.«  
Eames couldn’t hold in the snort, even though he didn’t really try very hard at all. Then he frowned. »Wait – she’s coming, too? Jesus, did you invite the whole campus?«  
»Three people is hardly a whole campus, Eames«, Yusuf said dryly and rolled his eyes at him. »And I told you this was a movie night, didn’t I?«

When Eames looked at Arthur at a loss, his face was blank as usual and he had his arms crossed over his chest, leaning against the door frame. He was wearing a dark blue button-up shirt and a grey-purple tie, but he had loosened it significantly so it was now loosely hanging from his neck, the first button was opened as well and Arthur had rolled up the sleeves and revealed the creamy skin of his wiry, strong forearms.  
»But … « Eames averted his eyes and ended up staring at the bowl of dough, Yusuf was elbows deep in, as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. »But movies-night means you and me.« Yusuf had never invited people before; movies-night also wasn’t really a _thing_ , they just occasionally ended up watching a movie instead of smoking a bowl, because they just didn’t feel like it.

Still, Eames didn’t think he could be blamed for being surprised at this turn of events. When he glanced at Arthur out of the corner of his eye again, he was still not showing anything on his face, but it seemed harder, colder now. When he saw Eames looking he held his gaze for a few seconds before deliberately slowly turning around and vanishing into the living room.  
Well, shit.  
»I’ve put my foot in my mouth again, haven’t I?«, he winced.  
The doorbell rang again.  
»Yeah, you did. Wanker«, Yusuf nodded distractedly, untied his apron and shuffled out to open the door for Ariadne.

 

**\- Arthur -**

Eames was entertaining company.  
Which was not surprising, really, but Arthur caught himself being fascinated anyways. Despite his comment from before, Eames didn’t seem to actually mind Ariadne and Arthur being there for this movie-night. The way Yusuf and Eames talked about it, it wasn’t a regular occurrence anyway, which made Arthur feel significantly less of an intruder than Eames earlier words had done. Ariadne and Yusuf were curled up together on the sofa, Arthur sat a respectful distance away – as far as that was possible on the old sofa – and Eames had shoved a pile of papers off a chair, pulled it next to him and had propped his feet up on the glass table in front of the sofa.  
He was throwing smarties into his mouth and commented on what was happening on screen simultaneously. Arthur was almost awed at the way Eames managed to not spray everyone with a chocolate-saliva mix with the way he was talking through his mouthful of smarties.

Arthur couldn’t quite help but notice small details about his appearance every time his glance was drawn back to Eames whenever he made a particularly funny, awful or dirty comment. His hair was messy, dark blonde strands of hair constantly falling into his face, no matter how often Eames stroked them back, and Arthur was half tempted to offer him gel to fix it. Then he remembered he, of course, didn’t take gel everywhere he went and so he would have to take Eames back to his dorm room, which, no, wasn’t a good idea probably.  
Eames’ shirt was wrinkled and thinned out at multiple places, something that was either blood or some barbecue-sauce stained the hem on his back, which had Arthur wonder how one got a stain there of all places for half an hour. Eames had probably been sitting in the sauce, was his best guess. The shirt’s collar was frayed and revealed way more of his tanned skin than Arthur was ready for. Just. Wow, collarbones, there was a new kink of his.  
He was wearing jeans that had something, which was probably white and red paint, all over them. He also had no socks on. Eames was barefoot and Arthur didn’t have a clue as to how the hell that had happened, but it was distracting, the way he kept wriggling and curling his toes, when he laughed at something on screen.

Luckily Eames was too preoccupied with merrily munching away on his smarties and muttering suggestions for plot-improvement or critique under his breath, whenever someone said something particularly stupid, to catch Arthur staring at him. He might’ve gotten over himself and admitted he liked Eames, at least a bit, but he wasn’t quite ready for Eames to realize how much of an effect he had on Arthur. Not while Arthur was still able to pretend otherwise.  
Christ, that good-bye at Eames’ flat had been awful. Arthur had never had a stronger wish for the floor to open up and swallow him whole, than in that moment when Eames had realized Arthur’d been stalking him.

Still mortified about the memory of that incident he swallowed dryly and tried hard not to blush, even though his cheeks felt already like they were burning. At least it was dark enough in here for Eames not to notice, with only the light of the screen illuminating the room.

Later, when the movie was over and it became clear that Ariadne had no intention of leaving anytime soon, Arthur announced it was time for him to go now and Eames decided to tag along.  
»Next time, I’m choosing the movie«, Eames said into the cold night air as they strolled slowly down the street, streetlights flooding their surroundings in a dark yellow light. »That was awful.«  
Arthur couldn’t help the small, amused snort that escaped him at that and when he glanced over at Eames, he was looking right back and winked, his fingers fiddling with his lighter. Why didn’t he seem like the biggest idiot on the planet? No one should be able to wink like that and not seem like a stupid dick.  
»What would your suggestion be then?«, he asked and tilted his head to look up into the sky, the city-lights were swallowing up the stars above and made it seem like there weren’t any. »Just so I can decide beforehand, if I want to come or rather stay at home.«

»Arse«, Eames sniffed but there was a grin curling his upper lip so Arthur didn’t feel like he’d seriously offended him. They were walking towards Arthur’s dorm, Eames place was in the opposite direction and no reason given as to why Eames wasn’t heading that way. Arthur didn’t ask. »I would have chosen _The Godfather_ , just so you know. And if you tell me now, you don’t like _The Godfather_ , I’m never going to speak a word to you again.«  
Arthur rolled his eyes and shrugged. »It’s alright, yeah.«  
Eames gasped and stopped walking immediately. »Arthur! That’s blasphemy, that is. Besides … Al Pacino is kinda hot.«  
»He’s basically a mass-murderer«, Arthur pointed out. »I mean, he’s cool I guess, but also a bit too close on the psychopath-side for my taste.«

»I dunno«, Eames shrugged. »I guess, I just like the way I’m never sure what he’s thinking. There’s always, like, a thousand possibilities of what he’s planning next, how much he knows and all that, and that’s what keeps it interesting – waiting to find out what he’s thinking.«  
Arthur didn’t respond until his building came into view. »And here I’d have pegged you as the guy, who likes Jason Statham and Liam Neeson movies.«  
Eames snorted. »Hey, there’s nothing wrong with those movies, I like them just fine.«  
»You were complaining about that Statham-movie throughout _the whole thing_!«, Arthur exclaimed and vaguely gestured back to where they’d left Yusuf’s flat behind.  
»Well, the plot was shit and there was no tension whatsoever«, Eames explained, his hands lifted signalling a ‘you did notice that, right?’ »Plus, the dialogue was fucking awful, I’m embarrassed for whoever wrote that – but Statham delivered them and made it at least okay. Can’t imagine how hard that must’ve been.«  
Arthur rolled his eyes and tried hard not to notice how they’d somehow slowed down and were walking inappropriately slow now. His elbow accidentally grazed Eames’ more than once in the time it took for them to reach the door, and he wasn’t quite sure if that was his fault or Eames’. They came to an awkward halt (at least to Arthur it felt awkward, Eames looked nothing short of peachy) just out of reach of the light above the door that had sprung to life when the sensor registered their movement.

»So – I think, I ought to apologize«, Eames said uncharacteristically earnest and Arthur frowned in surprise. Eames had both his hands buried in the pockets of his hideously bulging jeans-jacket and the absence of the soft clinking sound from before, told Arthur he’d even stopped playing with his lighter.  
»What for?«, he asked suspicious.  
»Well, before, on that party«, Eames said and shuffled his feet, but nothing in his face betrayed if he was being serious or sarcastic. »The shotgun, you know. It doesn’t _actually_ require lips touching. Or tongue, for that matter. Just though you should, uhm, know.«  
Arthur watched him with narrowed eyes for a few seconds. »Just because I haven’t smoked as many joints as you have, doesn’t mean I’m completely clueless about it. I do realize you essentially took advantage of the situation, but, you know, it wasn’t like I couldn’t have stopped you or called you out on it anytime.«  
Eames seemed to have frozen for a moment, before shrugging it off, a slow familiar smile spreading on his face. »If you put it like that … yeah, no need to apologize after all, I guess, huh?«

»Oh no, you should absolutely apologize«, Arthur shook his head. »You were drugging me and taking advantage at the same time, that’s no gentlemanly behaviour at all.«  
Eames snorted and his eyes glinted with mirth, mouth still smirking. »Never aspired to be a gentleman, sorry to disappoint.«  
An answering smile made the left corner of Arthur’s mouth twitch. »Too bad.«

The next moment there were pillowy lips moulded against his, noses brushing and stubble lightly scratching his chin. He wasn’t sure who’d started it but it had been him who took a step closer and Eames must’ve leaned forward to meet him.  
Unlike last time there was no insistent press of bodies and impatiently tugging hands, this time there was only that familiar heat seeping through his clothes from the close proximity to Eames, and the weight of a hand settling in his nape, fingers tangling with the ends of his hair. As hideous as the jacket was to look at, Arthur found it rather convenient to hold onto and pull Eames in, the lighter clinking softly inside his pocket. It wasn’t hard and rushed and frantic, neither was it sweet and soft, but what it was, was slow and hot and dizzying and Arthur wanted nothing more than keep this up until his knees gave out.  
His head spinning he sucked in air, the taste of Eames’ hot breath in his mouth and gasped for oxygen. Eames took advantage of his parted lips immediately and licked into his mouth, behind his teeth, his tongue a wet, hot glide tasting of the chocolate he’d devoured earlier this evening. It made Arthur clutch at Eames’ jacket all the harder in an effort to hold himself up, his head feeling like it could be floating away any second now. Even as they parted he didn’t let go, panting breaths mixing in the air between them.

»Will you come, see the play on Friday?« Eames voice was a little roughened but his gaze steady as ever when Arthur looked up in surprise. It wasn’t exactly an invitation, just a neutral question – well, as neutral as it could get with lips swollen from kissing and eyes dark and hot.  
»S-sure. Yeah«, he agreed, maybe a bit too quick. He’d planned on going anyway, just maybe not on telling Eames about it, so this didn’t really make a difference to his plans for Friday. »Alright.«  
»Good«, Eames grinned wide, the corners of his eyes crinkling up in a disturbingly adorable way, combined with his sinfully slick and red looking mouth. »Cause there’s this after-party, right, and I want you to come. It’d be dreadfully boring without you.«  
»Oh, uhm, okay … « That wasn’t what he’d expected.  
»And after that, you can finally show me your dorm-room«, Eames barrelled on cheerfully, obviously not registering the uncertainty in Arthur’s voice. He wasn’t too sure about the combination of Eames and alcohol (and/or weed), as the past had shown it was likely to end in a disaster. »You’ve been in my flat countless times now – « (Arthur snorted, that was an exaggeration if he’d ever heard one) » – and I haven’t seen your room once, not to mention meeting your roommate. You do have a roommate, don’t you?«  
Arthur nodded. Robert would likely forget Eames’ face the minute he met him, but that was okay. Robert didn’t pay much attention to most things anyway.  
»Good, that’s settled then.«

So. Did that mean Eames wanted to have sex with him or just wanted to see Arthur’s room? What even _had_ that kiss been? It hadn’t been as blatantly loaded with sexual tension like the ones they’d shared up until now, but … that didn’t mean anything, right? Arthur wasn’t even quite sure, what he wanted it to mean.  
He liked Eames well enough and he was attractive and charming. Okay, so maybe he _was_ quite attracted to Eames, but that didn’t mean there was anything more to it. There didn’t have to, either, right? The attraction was obviously reciprocated and Eames had never explicitly expressed any dislike of Arthur. Apart from his ‘stick-in-the-mud-attitude’, anyway. Eames practically inviting himself into Arthur’s bed – or that’s at least what Arthur took his words to mean – wasn’t a problem at all.

After all, Arthur kind of owed him a blow job.

»Here«, Eames said looking down into his hands and Arthur only realized it was his phone Eames was holding, when Eames handed it back to him.  
Arthur chose not to question how Eames had taken it from where it’d been securely inside of the zipped pocket of his jacket.  
»See you on Friday then«, he said, even if it sounded more like a question than a statement.  
Eames smiled bright enough to make Arthur want to taste it, and it only got wider when Eames noticed Arthur’s eyes flickering down to his lips.  
»You better be there.« With a tap of his finger to Arthur’s lower lip he sauntered away. It was still bright enough, with it being summer and all, for Arthur to see the indecent way Eames’ bum moved within the confines of his pants. Unlike Arthur Eames actually possessed a bum.

With a sigh Arthur let himself in and flopped onto his bed the minute he’d taken off his shoes, sending his bed knocking against the wall. Robert was hunched over his laptop by the desk, dressed in nothing more than his boxers and a loose, white t-shirt, even though a mug of coffee was standing right beside him and he usually spilled some of it onto his clothes.  
»You know I hate it when you do that«, he said without looking up. »Harry next door thinks we’re fucking in here every time he hears your bed hitting the wall, no matter how many times I explain to him, that you’re really not attractive enough to have that much sex.«  
»Thanks«, Arthur retorted dryly and rolled to his side. He could still taste chocolate on his tongue and was that a trace of dough? He licked his lips reflexively, chasing after the taste while trying not to turn his burning face into the blankets and hide like a fifteen-year-old after their first kiss.

»Who’s the lucky one, then?«  
When Arthur looked up, Robert had turned around and was watching him with lifted eyebrows.  
Objectively Robert was very handsome, Arthur thought. With his big, round blue eyes and eyelashes, that would make every girl jealous, paired with full lips, dark hair and fair skin covered in freckles, Robert was maybe one of the most attractive people he’d ever met. Arthur also knew how much of an asshole Robert could be. He wasn’t sure why, but he’d never seen Robert that way, he just was this non-sexual being to Arthur, his roommate and friend, nothing more or less.  
Right now he was reminded how attentive and persistent Robert could be when he had his mind set on it, even if that was rather seldom the case.  
»What?«, Arthur asked back and tried to look as clueless as possible.  
»Whose tongue was in your mouth?«, Robert said very clearly, his pale eyes never wavering from Arthur’s face.  
»I don’t know what you’re talking about«, Arthur replied blankly. It wasn’t as though he planned on not telling Robert about Eames, but he wasn’t about to just spill everything when Robert wasn’t even pretending to be anything less than nosy and rude.

»Your hair’s a mess«, Robert explained without missing a beat and gestured to Arthur’s head. When he self-consciously ran a hand over it, the hair at his nape was curling and tangled and he remembered the warm weight of Eames’ fingers settling there. »Well, a ‘mess’ for your standards. Also, you’re kind of blushing and your skin isn’t really made to hide that, didn’t you know?«  
He hadn’t outright told Robert that he was gay, but Robert wasn’t a judgemental person in that kind of way. Plus, Arthur was pretty sure Robert had his suspicions and if he wasn’t completely blind, he surely had picked up on it.  
Arthur shot him a look and heaved a sigh. »’s Eames.«  
»Eames?«, Robert repeated frowning. »The same Eames you haven’t stopped complaining about the past, I don’t know, year?«  
»It wasn’t a year«, Arthur huffed. »Three weeks at the most.«  
Robert didn’t reply, but his eyebrows wandered up again until they seemed to disappear into his hairline and his mouth was twisted into a smirk. There, it didn’t seem like news to Robert at all. Still, this rudeness was so uncalled for, and Arthur threw his extra pillow at him for it. This time Robert managed to dodge it. Sometimes Arthur was sure, he’d brought that extra pillow for the sole purpose of having something at hand to throw at Robert at all times.

The next morning he had a text message waiting for him, that read _pick me up b4 the show?_ The contact from which it was sent, was saved under ‘His Royal Highness’ and Arthur changed it to ‘Eames’, before falling asleep again.  
Later he replied with a simple _Okay._ , which Eames proceeded to criticize by pointing out, nobody needed to write out the ‘ay’ in the ‘okay’, there was also no punctuation of any kind needed in text messages and the correct way to respond would’ve been by simply sending the letter ‘k’. Adding emojis was classified a ‘debatable option’. The whole text was obviously without any punctuation or the use of capital letters, whatsoever, which was why it took Arthur ten minutes to figure out what Eames was saying.  
He responded with _Dear Mr. Eames, kindly go and fuck yourself. –Arthur_ , just to spite Eames. Of course, all that served was Eames delightedly responding with more indecipherable instructions on how to text and Arthur found himself in a pretty lively conversation until Friday.

For reasons unknown to him, Eames was wearing a police-officer-costume, complete with hat and handcuffs, when he opened the door for Arthur, who’d come to pick him up, just like Eames’d asked. He still wasn’t sure about the nature of this _relationship_ (for lack of a better word) between them, but he didn’t really get the chance to ask, since he was rendered speechless the second Eames opened the door.  
»Uhm, I don’t … what?«, Arthur asked, staring in confusion and obediently following Eames inside. »Why are you … what?«  
Eames smiled disturbingly innocent over his shoulder. »I have no idea what you’re talking about. Let me quickly get my stuff, we’ll be on our way in no time.«  
And with that he was off, leaving Arthur confused as ever. This was probably a bad idea. Eames was most definitely a bad idea. That didn’t make his mouth any less dry every time Eames’ shoulder brushed against his, or his thigh pressed to Arthur’s when they sat next to each other on the bus. There hadn’t really been any point to Arthur coming to get Eames, since neither had a car and he was essentially just riding the bus first in one direction, then the exact same way back.  
But then again, Eames didn’t seem to need a reason for most of the stuff he did all day. And Arthur was strangely okay with that, content to just be there and watch Eames do, whatever the hell it was he was doing.

Sometime before their stop Eames, who’d been chattering away the whole time and catching strange looks from everyone around them due to his police uniform, turned to Arthur and the smile quirking his lips up was secretive this time, like it was only meant for Arthur. For a moment Arthur’s chest felt too tight, then Eames was leaning forward and sharply bit into the soft flesh of Arthur’s neck, laughing when Arthur swatted at him and hissed in pain and protest.  
The rest of the way Eames was humming softly under his breath, something that sounded like ‘God save the Queen’, the Sex Pistols song, and when they got off the bus, he put the hat on Arthur’s head. He’d foregone the gel today (which had nothing to do with Eames mentioning he liked it better without product) and his hair was bouncing every which way already, so when he pulled the hat off it was a total catastrophe.  
Arthur glared at Eames for that, but Eames tugged on his hair softly and then blew air into Arthur’s ear, laughing like a maniac all the while, and somehow Arthur couldn’t hold onto his anger after that, even though he shoved Eames’ shoulders for that.

When they reached the stage, Arthur ducked away just in time before Eames could bite him again, and he disappeared backstage with a wink and waving his hat. Arthur took a seat in the second row and played with his phone until Ariadne and Yusuf appeared, simultaneously thanking him for saving them seats and complaining about having to come at all.  
The play was great and Eames was phenomenal. Arthur, among the rest of the audience, fell a bit in love with Mercutio and he had to bite his lip to not snort in laughter, like the rest of them did. The play was mostly set in a very dramatic tone, but Eames had apparently decided to follow a different path and delivered his lines with such purposefully over the top drama, it turned into a parody pretty quickly and Arthur was sad to see Mercutio die, because that meant the fun part was over.  
He caught Ariadne smirking at him knowingly when Mercutio died in overly dramatic gasps on stage, his partner obviously only barely holding back laughter and also unsure as to when the drawn out death-scene was at its end, since Mercutio just kept on gasping every time he opened his mouth to speak. Yusuf was in tears with laughter and Arthur quickly averted his eyes from where he saw Ariadne teasingly waggling her eyebrows.

All in all, the play was pretty good. It was Shakespeare, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Say hi on tumblr! http://dont-kill-my-darling.tumblr.com/
> 
> Disclaimer: Inception and its characters aren't mine


	9. How to make boys next door out of assholes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so there's no real excuse for having you waiting so long for the new chapter so I'm not gonna bore you with one
> 
> The only thing I have to say is that this chapter was done roughly ten days ago but i wasn't really happy with it and haven't got a beta so I spent the last ten days trying to fix it. Hasn't really worked though, it's more or les what i wanted to write so I'm not even sure what bothers me about it, but I'm just assuming you won't care and just like it well enough anyway.  
> At least the ones who're still reading.
> 
> I'm gonna try and go back to writing one chapter per two weeks, but I can't really promise it. Sorry?
> 
> Hope you like this anyways, even though it's kinda short and somehow just Eames...ahem.
> 
>  
> 
> Chapter Title: Volcanoes - Fall Out Boy

\- **Eames -**

The director was fuming. He couldn’t lash out on Eames like he obviously wanted to, because the play was still going and shouting curse-words at the top of his lungs would rather disturb the performance of the other actors.  
Eames stood and patiently waited for it to be over, after all he had kind of ignored every bit of direction given to him so maybe he deserved this a bit. Essentially it was for the benefit of the director himself, just so the poor man felt like his authority wasn’t completely non-existent since Eames _appeared_ to be listening this time. In truth Eames’ mind was replaying every glimpse of Arthur’s face he’d gotten from his stage time. He was delighted to discover that Arthur apparently scrunched his nose up, when he was laughing really hard, and also seemed to press his tongue to the back of his teeth. That was only for the really big laughs, though, a slight chuckle was merely accompanied by a flash of dimples.  
A few weeks back, the sight of dimples would’ve been a great success already but somehow Eames found himself insatiable now that he knew how much better it could get.

When the director was finally finished and they’d bowed excessively to the cheering crowd, Eames had to shake lots of hands backstage, smile politely and accept every over-the-top-compliment thrown at him by too many people, before he could finally duck away. He was still rubbing make-up from his face when he texted Arthur he’d be out front in five, grabbed his hat and waved at everybody on his way out, promising to meet them at the party later.  
»There’s white, just there by your ear«, was the first thing Arthur informed him of when Eames found him, Yusuf and Ariadne. He pointed to Eames’ left ear and watched as his hand shot up to rubbe at the area. »Been in a rush?«  
Eames wasn’t quite sure what to say to that so he settled for a wordless smirk and let Arthur decide on his own what that meant. »Let’s go then, I’m starved.«

Yusuf let all of them clamber in his car, ignoring Eames shotgunning the front seat by just letting Ariadne claim it for herself. When Eames settled in the backseat with a pout, Arthur was wearing a little confused frown that made him want to squeeze his cheeks and see Arthur splutter.  
»I thought we were going to a party?«, he finally asked with a slight tilt of his head.  
»Yeah, we are, but Eames has to stuff himself with food first since bullshitting on a stage for half an hour seems to be just that exhausting«, Yusuf replied dryly from the front seat and cursed when Eames pulled out the hair at his nape in retaliation.  
»Excuse me, it was far longer than half an hour«, Eames sniffed. »And I haven’t had any dinner today, so I think I’m allowed to be a bit famished.«  
Ariadne let out a soft snort at his use of that snobby word but her head whipped around to glare dangerously at Eames when his hand crept up to pull at her hair as well. Eames played it off by acting like he had been going for the back of her seat all along, and smoothed invisible dirt off of it.

Later Eames was too preoccupied with wolfing his burger down to notice the partly-amused and partly-grossed-out look Arthur was sporting whilst observing his eating.  
»How have you not yet exploded?«, Arthur asked honestly astonished after the fourth burger and two boxes of chicken-nuggets. Seeing as Ariadne was keeping up with Eames pretty well, he thought Arthur ought to be used to this, though.  
»He stores it all in his bum, cheeks and belly until the next time he works out – which is, like, next year or something«, Yusuf smirked.  
Eames scowled at him but finished his food off first, before replying. He leaned back and pulled the dark blue shirt of his police uniform up to reveal the bulge of his stomach, a little more prominent now that it was filled with fast food. He frowned down and rubbed his hand over the normally decently flat surface. »Well. I’m not fat yet, right?«  
Yusuf rolled his eyes, Ariadne was still concentrated on her own chicken-nuggets and Arthur… Arthur was staring at Eames’ stomach. Shoving the feeling of wanting to cover himself up again far down, Eames spun around to face him properly, jutted his lower lip out and tilted his head to make his eyes look bigger. »You would still like me, if I was chubby, right?«  
Arthur’s eyes flickered up into Eames’ face and he immediately let his shirt slide down far enough to at least cover up the bit where his belly looked the most protruding to him. In comparison to Arthur himself, all flat planes of wiry muscle and sharp bones, Eames did feel a bit soft at the best of times to be honest. He was a lot bulkier than Arthur of course, but how much of that was actual muscle, he wasn’t even sure himself.  
»What’s that got to do with anything?«, Arthur asked, the small frown back in place. He looked down at Eames’ stomach again and then hastily averted his eyes. Eames felt a bit better after that.

»Need alcohol after all this greasy food«, Ariadne chimed in and Eames found himself impressed by how much she’d managed to eat considering her tininess, when he turned back towards her and found her tray empty bar the wrapping papers and a few stray crumbs.  
»Alcohol it is«, he nodded and pulled Arthur up and after him by his wrist. A warm feeling spread to the tips of his fingers when he noticed how Arthur didn’t even attempt to shake his hold off, or tug at his hand. Instead he let himself be dragged after Eames and back to Yusuf’s car, even let Eames shove one of the beer bottles he’d found in the trunk into Arthur’s hand, though he didn’t sip at it once.  
Now, that wouldn’t do. Eames very much wanted to kiss and touch Arthur again (the last time still clear and glorious in his mind, thank you very much), only this time he’d like for it to end a bit better than the previous times, pretty please. Arthur was so tense most of the time anyway, though, that this could most likely only be accomplished by putting a bit of alcohol in him and relax him a bit. So, Eames decided, his mission for tonight was making Arthur tipsy enough to accomplish said relaxation.

It was a good plan – save for the fact that Arthur didn’t seem very intent on drinking anything alcoholic. The beer was still mostly untouched by the time Yusuf pulled into a petrol station (in a seemingly necessary, death-threatening manoeuvre that made Eames cling to his seat and Arthur dig his fingers into Eames’ thigh; Eames didn’t complain), even though Ariadne's was almost empty and Eames himself was at his second bottle already. Eames hopped out to buy some cheap Vodka and Arthur eyed it sceptically when Eames climbed into the car again and clamped his thighs around the bottle to fasten his seatbelt.  
»You do know that I’m still underage, yeah?«  
Eames snorted and held onto the bottle carefully as Yusuf pulled out into the street again (the car almost tipped over) and into the direction of the party at last. »Yeah, darling, I think mostly everyone would guess as much after one look at your oh so pretty and _youthful_ face.«  
Arthur scowled and closed his hand in a tighter grip around the bottle in his hand, the colour on his knuckles fading. »Gee, thanks very much, asshole. I just meant I’m not gonna be underage anymore in a few weeks so it would be a shame if I got caught just a month before I’m legally allowed to drink.«

»Aww, I didn’t mean to insult you«, Eames said and patted Arthur’s knee despite the death glare he received for his trouble. »In my country you haven’t been underage for a few years now and that’s the only country that counts anyway, so I’m really not fuzzed, darling. By the way, when’s your birthday again?«  
Had Arthur ever told him his birthday? When hecontinued to stare unmoved, now with the addition of an unimpressed eyebrow arched up, Ariadne’s voice came from the front seat. »Eighteenth of August. Just. You know, maybe you two could get it over with and just shag each other, yeah? I’m kinda feeling suffocated by the sexual tension at this point.«  
»No shagging in my car!«, Yusuf protested immediately and Eames rolled his eyes.

»How about we show them some sexual tension?«, he snorted, his eyes on the front seat as he leaned over to breathe directly into Arthur’s neck. He smelled faintly of expensive cologne, a bit of grease from the fast food, and even a little like sweat – which only served to make Eames want to lick it off his skin. It might be a bit early for that, though, so he just nudged the tip of his nose gently behind the shell of Arthur’s ear and smirked at Yusuf’s warning glare in the rearview mirror.  
»Stop that, I don’t want to witness sexual tension of any kind happening in my back seat, thank you very much«, he warned and tried for serious but his voice shook with holding back his chuckles.  
Only then did Eames realize how hot Arthur’s ear felt and when he leaned back a bit he realized it was almost glowing with how much blood was apparently flowing towards it. Arthur was staring straight ahead, his expression completely blank, but the blush was spreading from his ears down over his pale neck and disappearing into his shirt, making Eames want to pull it down to see how far it went. His hand clamped around the neck of his bottle to prevent his fingers from wandering where they weren’t supposed to wander, and if Eames wasn’t mistaken Arthur’s breathing had gotten a bit irregular, almost as if he knew what Eames was thinking about.

Slowly, very slowly Eames leaned back after grazing Arthur’s long neck with his nose one last time and seeing him tense up slightly. To the two in the front seats he said: »We can’t promise anything on that regard, sorry.«  
Arthur tried for a snort but it sounded a lot more like he was clearing his throat. No one commented on it, though, and Eames didn’t invade his personal space again throughout the rest of the ride. He didn’t back off either, though, their knees touching, calves and thighs aligned and their shoulders bumping. Arthur was close enough still for Eames to faintly smell his cologne and while Arthur didn’t once turn his head and so much as look in Eames’ direction he didn’t lean away either.

When they arrived at the party, the driveway wasn’t filled with cars already like it was at most parties. Most of the actors were here by foot, living either nearby or planning on sleeping here, as Eames’d learned in first few weeks when he'd gone to these kinds of partys here for the first time. The house wasn’t packed like on usual house parties no more than fifty people in this 'closed circle' of 'guests', but the music was as loud as ever.  
»Not just _anyone_ gets invited, you know?«, Eames winked at Arthur when they climbed out of the car and started towards the house.  
»So why’d they invite you?«, Arthur retorted with such a genuinely confused expression that Eames needed a moment to work out the teasing tone behind it.  
»Tosser«, he snorted and nudged Arthur’s shoulder with his, but didn’t miss the dimple pressing into the cheek closest to him.

Ariadne and Yusuf disappeared soon after they entered the house, but Arthur was quietly shadowing Eames as he made his way to the kitchen, where he found one of the other actors preparing his own drink.  
»Harry!«  
Eames turned in surprise when he heard Arthur exclaim Harry's name and Harry himself looked up with a delighted grin.  
»Well, well, Arthur, would never have thought I’d meet you on a party«, he grinned and lifted his cup in greeting. »Would’ve thought you were too busy knocking some chick into my wall. You do know there’s alcohol served here, right?«  
»Told you a hundred times, it’s just my bed, I’m not fucking anyone into your wall, Harry«, Arthur rolled his eyes and Eames curiosity was gonna make him explode any second now. He looked from Arthur to Harry and back. Harry was tall, taller and leaner than Eames, tattoos were showing on the back of his hands and in his nape, dark hair curling around his face and his eyes were almost as dark as Arthur’s. He had played Romeo in their play (of course) and was actually a pretty laid-back, friendly person. Eames could hardly be blamed for jumping to conclusions, though, pretty as Harry was, now could he.

»How do you two know each other again?«, he interrupted their stupid banter, maybe a bit more abruptly than strictly necessary. But Harry was stealing Arthur’s attention away from Eames and that was not how this evening was supposed to go, this evening was supposed to be all about Eames. Every day was supposed to be about Eames, really, but most days he didn't get as close to that actually happening as he did today. Stupid Harry with his stupid hair and smiles, stealing Eames the attention he'd so patiently waited and worked hard for.  
»From my dorm«, Arthur explained shrugging.  
»Arthur here is living in the room next to mine – and he keeps knocking his damn bed into my wall«, Harry said simultaneously. »I spent _weeks_ thinking Robert and he were fucking, I swear to God. Nobody should be allowed to have that much sex, I was quite jealous.«  
Arthur snorted and rolled his eyes at Harry’s inappropriate smirk. Harry seemed to realize Eames might not feel included in their stupid little conversation and asked: »You know Robert’s – «  
»Totally straight«, Arthur interrupted.  
»Your roommate«, Eames said the same second.  
Harry started giggling so hard his eyes teared up. Well, obviously he’d had enough to drink.

That reminded Eames of his mission for tonight and he started finally pouring them their drinks. Arthur was just pushing Harry’s face away by pressing one pointed finger into his cheek, when Eames was done and handed him his cup. He took it but peered and sniffed suspiciously at it before looking up at Eames.  
»What’s in this?«  
»Apple-cider«, Eames said truthfully and nodded encouragingly. »I put just a tiny bit of Whiskey in, wasn’t more than one shot though. Promise.«  
Arthur still looked doubtful but after he took a testing gulp he seemed to deem it acceptable. Eames hid his proud smile in his own cup and almost snorted his own cider up through his nose again, when Harry’s eyes found the cheap Vodka they’d brought with them and exclaimed: »Alcohol!«, like he’d never seen such a pleasant sight in his life.

»Let’s get outta here«, Eames suggested and nodded to the door through which a few more people just came pouring into the kitchen. He took the cider as well as the half empty Whiskey-bottle with him, as Arthur led the way out of the kitchen and upstairs where there were people playing some very drunk Twister next to what appeared to be the dancefloor. Arthur chose to sit on a couch right in front of the drunk Twister-players, crossed his legs under himself and didn’t take his eyes off Eames until he sat down beside him.  
»So«, he said and emptied his cup. »Why _are_ you wearing a police uniform of all things?«  
Eames tugged on his shirt and shrugged. »When am I gonna have a chance to wear it? Besides, uniforms are kind of hot, so why wouldn’t I?«  
»You want to look hot«, Arthur repeated slowly. »That’s it?«  
»Don’t I?«, Eames pouted. He’d left his hat in Yusuf’s car otherwise he’d have adjusted it now to sit a bit tilted on his head. Nevertheless he did his best to smirk daringly.  
Arthur opened his mouth without saying anything though, then grabbed the cider from Eames’ hand and poured himself another cup before dumping some Whiskey in it as well. »Don’t need a fucking uniform for that«, he mumbled and took a great gulp.  
Eames couldn’t help the smile breaking on his face at that. He leaned forward and cooed at Arthur’s face which earned him a shove and a beautifully blushing face.  
»I just ... thought you wear it to, dunno, not get caught riding the bus without a ticket, or something«, Arthur mumbled into his cup and blushed even harder when Eames laughed all the louder.  
»That - that's not how it works«, Eames reminded Arthur, still giggling.  
»I know«, Arthur emphasized. »Duh. Just thought you didn't. Idiot.«

An hour later Ariadne found them, the whiskey-bottle now emptied and alcohol swimming warm in their bellies, Arthur giggling helplessly into Eames’ shoulder where he’d pressed his face five minutes earlier. Eames was starting to think that Arthur’d maybe had too much, but he hadn’t drunk that much yet, had he? Arthur had definitely had less than Eames, so (theoretically) he should be fine. Ariadne tugged Arthur up and away with her, muttering something about needing help to beat Yusuf at Scrabble, but Eames was pretty sure that had to be code for something. Why would anyone play Scrabble on a house party? On the other hand, Eames thought as he watched someone lose their balance and tumble to the ground right before him, he hadn’t seen them play Twister before, either, so maybe he wasn’t on the right track here. They were all some kind of art students, after all, why wouldn’t they do something like playing Scrabble and Twister? Now thinking about it, it did seem pretty tame compared to what Eames could think of them doing, which wouldn’t really surprise him.  
He wandered around the house for half an hour, greeting people here and there, taking a drag from the joint Harry offered him when he passed him by, and was generally just riding the nice warm buzz he got going on. However, when he found Arthur again, he was well beyond a pleasant buzz, seeing as he was busy trying to convince Ariadne the word ‘applepie’ actually had four Ps in it. Even while he said it, he seemed to realize there was something not right with his argument and frowned, confused by himself.

»Think I should maybe take him home«, Eames suggested fighting down his grin while Ariadne watched on exasperated as Arthur started silently counting Ps on his fingers. »He’s had enough, I’d say.«  
»And whose fault is that?«, Ariadne asked openly scolding him while Eames grabbed Arthur under his arms and pulled him upright.  
»It was just apple-cider and a teeny tiny bit of Whiskey«, Eames defended himself, but getting slightly distracted by the way Arthur started sniggering about nothing at all and leaned heavily on his shoulder.  
»So you never thought he might be a lightweight with how much partying he’s obviously done, no? He doesn’t break any fucking rules, how do you think he should be able to hold his liquor if he’s not legally allowed to even try?« Ariadne huffed, bordering on wildly offended gesturing like she couldn’t believe Eames could be this stupid. Her stare turning into a glare when she fixed him with a heavy look. »Don’t you dare take advantage of him – I hear anything you’re blackmailing him with and I’ll castrate you, understood?«  
Eames shuffled his feet a bit sheepish and grimaced. »No, I’d never. I’m sorry, alright. I didn’t, uh, mean to … well … « He _had_ meant for Arthur to get a little drunk, after all. Just not off-his-face-drunk-and-incapable-of-counting-correctly.  
»Wanna go home, this is awful«, Arthur whined at that moment and grabbed Eames’ wrist to tug insistently at his shirtsleeve. He looked almost a bit cross-eyed but other than that Eames would’ve never guessed Arthur was drunk. He seemed to stand solidly on his feet just fine, not swaying or anything, he wasn’t stumbling or even had a reddened face. The only way any bystander would be able to tell he was drunk, was by Arthur opening his mouth to speak, his words slurring together. »’M dizzy, ‘s go, yeah?«

Eames led him out of the house where Arthur immediately forgot to be whiney and instead tipped his head back and concentrated on admiring the stars while Eames called a cab. »Why’s everythin’ so spinny?«  
»Sh, you’re okay, I’ve got you«, Eames mumbled distractedly and grabbed for his arm, but Arthur chose this very moment to stop walking and just fall back against the wall behind him. He pressed his fists to his eyes and if that wasn’t the most adorable thing Eames’d ever seen, then the way Arthur blinked slowly when he pulled his fists back certainly was.

»I’m _shitfaced_ «, Arthur said, apparently genuinely surprised at this realization as Eames pulled him upright again and towards the cab that had just pulled over. »I’m … I’m, like, completely trashed!«  
»Yeah«, Eames admitted chuckling to himself. »Yes, love, you really are.«  
»This is your fault!«, Arthur pointed an accusing finger at him even as Eames pushed him down to sit in the backseat of the car, the cabbie looking doubtfully at both of them when he climbed in right behind him. When he asked whereto they were going, Arthur just brushed over Eames by proclaiming Eames’ address very loudly, just as Eames was about to say Arthur’s address first.

»You want me to walk you home?«, he frowned at Arthur while the cab started in the general direction of Eames’ flat. »Again?«  
»No, ‘m not going home«, Arthur shook his head and slumped back into the seat, looking absolutely content with himself as he presented Eames with a small smile, one dimple definitely showing. »We’re going to yours, didn’t you hear me?«  
»Yeah, but you’re drunk, darling«, Eames informed him carefully.  
Arthur rolled his eyes at him, the lights of the city flowing over his face through the window and making his cheekbones look even sharper. »So? I wanna sleep with you, so that’s what I’m going to do.«  
Okay. Eames’ breath stopped for a few moments.  
»I’m not sleeping with you, when you’re drunk«, Eames proclaimed, a bit too loud maybe but he needed to convince not only Arthur but himself as well, so he was kinda allowed, he decided. It was all for a good cause after all.  
Arthur huffed and turned in his seat a little so he could glare more comfortably at Eames. »After weeks of pursuing me and basically teasing me with sex every chance you get, you really think I’m gonna believe that?«

Eames shrugged. Arthur did have a point there, but he still wouldn’t do it. He wouldn’t. He’d promised Ariadne and she’d have his balls, if he broke that promise. Also it’d probably be unfair to Arthur – scratch that, it’d most definitely be unfair to Arthur.  
…but why did he have to be so beautiful and tempting, adorable and drunk as he was?  
»You can take the bed, I’ll sleep on the couch«, he mumbled, more to himself than to anybody else.

Arthur huffed and crossed his arms, which added to the look of an insolent teenager combined with the scowl he was currently wearing. »Would be perfect, actually«, he murmured into his non-existent beard. »Would probably be far too nervous sober, anyway, so why not…«  
Eames would’ve laughed at Arthur’s childish brooding, if he hadn’t been so surprised about the words he’d just heard. Nervous. About sex. With Eames? He was rendered speechless for the remaining time of the ride and just wordlessly handed the cabbie the money, while Arthur managed to miss the door twice as he tried to shut it.

When Eames unlocked the door for them to step in, Arthur was humming something under his breath and had apparently totally forgotten what they’d be talking about, so Eames decided to just leave it for at least as long as Arthur needed to sober up. He had to help Arthur untangle himself from his jacket, then somehow ended up making tea because Arthur complained it was too cold in his flat.

»I can give you a shirt of mine to sleep in, if you … «, Eames suggested as he walked into the bedroom with a hot mug of tea. He was stopped dead in his tracks when he found Arthur sprawled on the bed. He’d managed to kick his trousers off and to the ground, his briefs were twisted around his thighs and hips and he’d somehow managed to get stuck in his shirt. That was apparently when he’d given up, which’d resulted in him now lying on his back in the middle of Eames’ bed, breathing hard and with his clothes slung around one arm and his neck.  
When Eames walked in Arthur opened the eyes he’d closed and smiled at him. »Wanted to strip. Gonna have to help me.«  
Swallowing dryly Eames complied, put the mug away and went over to the bed to help Arthur pull of his top. When he started shimmying down his briefs, Eames stopped him, though. »Nope, none of that. I’m not a saint, there’s only so much I can take, darling.«  
»So don’t«, Arthur said and, shit, his eyes were so big and dark, glazed over almost unnoticeably, his face slightly reddened and his thumbs hooked in the waistband of his briefs. Eames knew he’d be wanking to that image for the foreseeable future, he didn’t even try not to look too closely. »Don’t stop, just cause you think you have to…«  
The small waver of uncertainty detectable in Arthur’s voice was what brought Eames back and he shook his head slowly. He couldn’t and he wouldn’t – not like this, at least. There would be no other plans of getting Arthur drunk in the near future, if it resulted in Arthur being basically shitfaced and (apparently) horny as hell.

»Never thought you’d have any morals at all, why now?«, Arthur mumbled and that was all the warning Eames got, before he’d rolled himself around and onto his side, where he started nuzzling into Eames’ thigh (and crotch). Eames couldn’t help the small moan falling from his lips at that – it was moist and hot and breath and mouth and _Arthur_. »I kinda owe you a blow-job, don’t I?«  
»You don’t – _fuck_! – you really don’t«, Eames cursed and he had to slide his hand into Arthur’s hair in order to pull him away from Eames’ dick, when all he wanted was to push Arthur’s face closer.  
»Wanna know what you taste like«, Arthur panted, mouth hanging open, a blush riding high on his cheeks and his neck arched due to the pull of Eames’ hand in his hair. »Yes? Please, wanna feel you in my mouth.«

Eames closed his eyes tightly, cursed again and forced himself a step backwards and then another one, until he couldn’t hold onto Arthur’s head anymore, even though his dick was straining uncomfortably sensitive against his trousers. When he opened his eyes again Arthur made a noise of loss and eyed Eames’ crotch in such a hungry way, that he could feel it twitch eagerly.  
»You’re gonna regret this in the morning«, Eames warned Arthur as steady as he could.  
Arthur pulled a face and fell back onto the bed. »Yeah, probably. Maybe I’m lucky, maybe I just won’t be able to remember any of this, wouldn’t that be great.«

Putting the mug right next to the bed on the nightstand, Eames also let an old t-shirt drop onto Arthur’s naked chest. Before Arthur could even lift it up, Eames had loosely curled one hand around Arthur’s throat and darted down to kiss the taste of cheap, bad alcohol off his lips. He may not fuck Arthur in his intoxicated state but he was in no way a saint. Arthur’s hands fluttered over his chest for a moment, before they settled in the hem of Eames’ shirt where they curled in the fabric and tugged at it to pull Eames down. Arthur sighed when Eames licked his mouth open, his fingers at Arthur’s throat pressing into the soft underside of his jaw – not hard, not patronizing, just guiding his head to press further back into the pillow.  
When Eames leaned back Arthur blinked his eyes slowly open again and licked his lips as if he was chasing Eames’ taste. His blush had spread down to his chest and he was clutching Eames’ old shirt to it, his chest rising and falling rapidly, fingers clenching in the fabric.

His throat dry and cock now practically falling off Eames swallowed and mumbled: »G’night, darling.«  
»Unfair«, pouted Arthur but he rolled to his side and started pulling the shirt over his head, his legs pale and seemingly endless against the dark fabric of Eames’ bedding. »Thanks for getting me home … I guess … «, he added when he’d pushed his head through and saw Eames still watching and hovering by the door. Arthur’s hair was mussed from all the pulling clothes on or off (and probably Eames’ hand) and he was practically swimming in his oversized shirt. Even though Eames’ dick was making its presence known by painfully straining against his fly, Eames could’ve crawled into bed with Arthur right now and just curled around him, he looked so comfy and sleepy and at home there between the blankets.  
But that wouldn’t stay innocent for very long, not with Arthur’s bum pressing against Eames’ very much interested crotch, so Eames fumbled for the light switch before he could do something stupid. Arthur knew where the bathroom was, there was really not much more Eames could do right now.

He took a quick shower and had an embarrassingly short wank, before falling onto the couch and arranging himself as comfortably as possible. Tomorrow he was gonna have a crick in his neck and probably a hangover but he just couldn’t be bothered to fetch himself some water now. Should he have forced Arthur to drink some water? Maybe, but that would’ve most likely ended with Arthur touching his dick or something of the like.

 

The next morning he was rudely woken up by a door slamming and then the distinct sound of someone throwing up into a toilet bowl. Pulling a face Eames turned to his side and pulled his duvet over his face. Only. There was no duvet. Neither was there enough room to turn, which was why he ended up falling and landing hard on the floor, his eyes flying open the moment he realized where he was. Oh right. He’d slept on the couch.  
So, that person pukimg into his toilet was presumably Arthur. This time when he pulled a face and staggeringly got up, it was a face of sympathy (and maybe a little pain, since his head throbbed a bit). Maybe he should’ve made Arthur drink water after all, he thought as he made his way towards his bathroom.

The door was only half closed when Eames reached it and there was a pitiful moan from the inside. Eames leaned against the frame, crossed his arms over his bare chest since it was kinda chilly for wearing no shirt, and opened the door wider by pushing against it with his toes. Arthur was hunched over the toilet, arms basically hugging it and hair falling into his face. There was a sheen of cold sweat on his arms and forehead and he was looking a little bit woozy.  
»Aw, shit, I’m sorry, darling«, he murmured and entered the bathroom. Arthur’s head whipped around, his eyes narrowed, but he only had time for one good glare at Eames, then he had to lean over the toilet again and heave everything up his stomach had left to give. Eames stepped close enough to hold his hair back and up. Even though it wasn’t long enough to get dirty, it still had to be annoying with the way it kept dangling into Arthur’s eyes.  
»I hate you«, Arthur moaned, breathing heavily, but hummed when Eames’ fingers caressed his cold sweaty temples and leaned into the touch. »’m gonna kill you as soon as this is over. Honest.«  
Eames just shushed him and waited until Arthur was left dry heaving, then brought him a glass of water and some painkillers. Half an hour later Arthur was ready to get up off the bathroom floor to take his shower and after he was too tired for anymore death threats, instead just fell back into Eames’ bed and nodded off again.

»That was awful«, Arthur stated in the evening after they’d eaten toast and had tea (Arthur didn’t even complain about preferring coffee). »I was … this is not happening again. Ever.«  
Eames didn’t fail to notice the faint blush rising in his cheeks and he just couldn’t bite his tongue. »What specifically? The vomiting, the getting drunk itself or the trying-to-give-me-a-blow-job-part?«, he smirked and waggled his eyebrows. »Cause I wouldn’t say no to the last two.«  
Arthur kicked him.  
»Shut up.«  
But Eames hadn’t failed to notice that he still hadn’t left/stormed out yet, even though Arthur’d woken up (again) over an hour ago. He wouldn’t have been surprised if Arthur’d just left the moment his stomach allowed him to, to be quite honest, so him staying had been unexpected. Not unpleasantly so, even with all the throwing-up going on, but unexpected still.

Maybe it should have been weird, Arthur staying over this long, but it strangely wasn’t. Eames was under no illusion that Arthur might be staying overnight today, again, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t noticed the shift in Arthur’s behaviour. It was like Eames’d been fighting a storm, some kind of hurricane or tornado or however those things were called that they had over in Florida all the time. He’d been slapped by Arthur left, right and center with everything he could possibly imagine.  
And now it seemed the storm was over – or, _or_ he’d made it to the eye of the storm. But Eames liked the first image better. Anyway, he’d made it through the rough weather and now all the leaning against the wind, shoving back as good as he got to move inch by painstaking inch forward, was unnecessary, the wind blowing him backwards gone completely. He was tumbling forward now, caught off guard by the sudden change, and falling right into Arthur. And he was falling deep, didn’t know how to stop, because when he cornered Arthur on his way from the shower to the bed, fully expecting to get his arse handed to him for being handsy and demanding, Arthur’d let him. Eames’d been too surprised to go through with his ‘plan’ and kiss him like he’d threatened, when Arthur had scowled at him but taken no action whatsoever to push him away. They’d just stood there awkwardly until Arthur sighed and freed himself from Eames’ grip.  
When Arthur announced he’d be on his way now, got up and to the door, Eames didn’t even think about it. He just sidled up to him and hugged him from behind, his arms sneaking around Arthur’s middle and locking in place quickly, while he pushed his nose into Arthur’s nape at the same time. Arthur didn’t jolt, go stiff or tell him to stop fucking touching him, no, he _let_ Eames and even blushed a bit. When Eames sneakily managed to pat Arthur’s bum on his way out, Arthur slapped his hand away with burning red ears. The slap didn’t even sting and Eames couldn’t stop grinning.

All the grumbling that followed about Eames’ manners, or lack thereof, didn’t stop Eames from being (grumpily) invited to Arthur’s »some time«, and since he didn’t really know how to react he just pulled Arthur back by the collar of his jacket and kissed him stupid.

When Eames was just shutting the door behind Arthur, his phone started ringing and Eames just stood there creepily listening to the conversation the whole time Arthur took to take the stairs. »Yeah, hey … no, I’m goo– I’m at– Fine, I’m _not yet_ home … No, there’s absolutely no need … it was totally fine, stop mothering me … I know … Yeah, no, he didn’t, uhm, he didn’t do anything I– oh, Jesus, would you stop? I don’t wanna hear it, that’s an image I don’t need … yes, thank you very much … «  
Eames wasn’t able to hear the caller’s part of the conversation, but he was pretty sure it was Ariadne and he could imagine just fine what she was telling Arthur. Still grinning wide he closed the door when Arthur exited the building, stood there in his flat smiling stupidly for a moment before clapping his hands over his face to cover up the delirious grin and groaned into his palms. The next morning there was a text from Arthur with a simple: _Want to meet Robert tonight?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also: huge thank you to mlp_buttons and everyone else who's commented, or left kudos, these are the things that make me want to write more and more so thanks so much!
> 
> And I'm going for roughly 20 chapters here, maybe 25 but no more. Just. Dunno if that's even relevant to you, just thought I'd let you know ;)
> 
> Say hi on tumblr! http://dont-kill-my-darling.tumblr.com/
> 
> Disclaimer: Inception and its characters aren't mine


	10. Imagine the taste of your lips

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This the new chapter is basically not a lot of plot but I hope you like it anyway ;) it's gotten quite long so that might help? Hope there's some of you out there still reading this and THANK YOU to everyone who's left kudos or commented, they mean so much to me!
> 
> Chapter title: Roman Holiday - Halsey

\- **Arthur** -

Robert wasn’t home. He was supposed to be here, in their dorm room as usual at this time of the day, but he wasn’t and Arthur was panicking. Slightly. It was still too early for him to have gone out – he had this weird rule about never leaving for a party before at least half past eleven. True, Arthur’d never attended a party that had been in full swing at nine, but then he usually didn’t enjoy parties that much anyway, so it didn’t really make a difference.  
The problem here was that Arthur’d texted Eames on his way back from grocery shopping, which had consisted of bottles of coke, and some apples and nuts for snacks to tide him over, since they didn’t have a fridge in their room, which meant he couldn’t store any real food anywhere. He hadn’t even thought about the possibility that Robert wouldn’t be home when he got back and just texted Eames to come over. Before he could think of something, anything, to make Eames not come over after all, Eames’d replied he was on his way. That of course meant, he could turn up on their doorstep _literally any second_.  
Arthur felt betrayed. How could Robert do this to him? Now he looked like he’d lured Eames here to have sneaky sex with him, or something. What else was Eames supposed to think when he arrived and found Arthur alone? Especially considering Eames’ already pretty debauched mind. This was not how Arthur’d planned this evening. Not that he didn’t want Eames, on the contrary, he was rather hoping he’d get some more along the lines of previous encounters, but he hadn’t imagined it all to go over like this. He wasn’t _prepared_ for this and this was going all wrong.

Arthur was pacing through the room, his hair a complete mess from all the running his fingers through it, when the door was kicked open rather rudely and Arthur had his mouth already opened to reprimand Eames and remind him of knocking, when he realized it wasn’t Eames who had entered the room. It was Robert and he was wearing a sand-coloured, perfectly tailored suit, god knew why, and his arms were wrapped around two humongous brown paper bags, which he dropped onto his bed with a groan. Arthur could see something suspiciously beer-can-shaped peeking out and was just about to ask if Robert had really just bought two bags full of beer (and why?) when there was a polite knock on the still open door.  
Whipping his head around he found Eames standing in the doorway, impossible mouth pulled into an amused smirk, eyes on Robert’s beer-can-covered bed. Robert himself had straightened up again and ran his hand through his hair, fixing it perfectly with just that little gesture, and turned around to both of them.

»Well«, he said, eyes on Eames and narrowed curiously with his head cocked sideways slightly. »Greetings, peasants!« And he opened his arms wide, looking ridiculous in his expensive suit, bed littered with beer-cans behind him, but his whole posture confidently expressing how he was just welcoming them both to his kingdom.  
Arthur felt the strong need to press his hands to his face and groan until his heart stopped from the lack of oxygen. This was _not_ how he’d intended this evening to go.

But obviously he didn’t have a say in the whole ordeal and this was how Eames was going to meet Robert for the first time. Perfect.  
»Excuse me?«, Eames asked, his mouth twitching again. »I am no peasant, sorry to disappoint. If anything, I’m a subject of my queen, thank you very much.«  
Robert blinked, obviously not having anticipated this reply (and/or accent), and his eyes narrowed even more for a moment. His mouth curled into a cool smile, his arms sinking back down slowly, he replied: »I think I like this one, Archie.«  
This time Arthur did groan out loud and Eames’ eyes wouldn’t stop widening. »Archie?«  
»He _never_ calls me that«, Arthur explained dryly. »He’s just trying to annoy me.«  
Eames didn’t appear to be listening at all, a blinding smile spreading over his face, and deciding to enter the room. Within three steps he immediately stood too close to Arthur. » _Archie!_ «  
Arthur didn’t manage to duck in time and thus ended up with his cheeks squished between Eames palms as he cooed, completely ignoring the threatening glare Arthur shot him as he struggled to free himself from Eames’ grip. To no avail of course, they’d already established how much stronger Eames was.

Theoretically Eames was able to hold Arthur down, should he choose so. There was an uncomfortably big part of Arthur that was kind of hoping Eames would do that right now, a part that kept chanting ‘yes yes yes yes yes!’. Mortifying. Arthur was pretty sure Eames could not only see the blush on his face but also feel the heat rushing through his cheeks, which were still squished in between Eames’ palms. Arthur quickly changed his tactic from tugging unsuccessfully at Eames’ wrists, to uncurling his fingers from them and pinching the inside of them, hard.  
Eames hissed and released him immediately, Robert laughing maniacally at both of them.  
»That was rude.«  
» _You’re_ rude«, Arthur retorted maturely and retreated backwards to sit on his bed. Maybe not the best move but he was trying not to think about Eames pushing him down and onto his back, holding him there and having his wicked way with him. He couldn’t really be blamed for trying to get a bit of distance between them and getting his thoughts under control, could he?

»So, you’re the infamous Eames, I’m guessing?«, Robert chimed in before Eames could follow Arthur.  
He turned back around to Robert, one hand lifting to rub the back of his neck slightly, a sure sign of oncoming nervousness. Arthur couldn’t exactly tell why, but a kind of comfy warmth unfurled in his stomach at that realization. »Uh, yeah, I suppose. Though I don’t really know anything about that ‘infamous’ part.«  
»Oh, I’ve heard so much about you«, Robert assured him casually. »I know all about your shenanigans, filthy little secrets and that miraculous dick of yours that can magically cure world-hunger, and so on.«  
Eames opened and closed his mouth a few times, an actual blush rising in his cheeks. He was obviously struggling, unprepared for this … for this … for Robert. »Uhm. My dick can do wondrous things, yeah, but I’m pretty sure curing world-hunger isn’t one of its magical abilities.«  
Robert made a scandalized noise, pressed his hand to his chest and then turned around to sort out the beer cans on his bed, without missing a beat. Eames turned to Arthur and helplessly lifted his shoulders. Arthur had to hold back his snort of laughter which earned him a reproachful look and a pout that could’ve killed him _with those fucking lips_.

»Well, children, I’m afraid you’ll have to play without me, as I have to leave and do important adult-things«, Robert went on while storing about half of the cans in his nightstand. He divided the rest equally amongst the two paper bags, now far less likely to burst than they’d been before and closer to being appropriately filled. »No funny business. Be good, yeah?«  
Eames’ eyebrows retreated up his forehead and almost fully disappeared into his hairline as he stared at Robert in an interesting mixture of awe and bafflement. Arthur didn’t even try and reason with Robert, he was unstoppable like a force of nature (as long as his father wasn’t involved).  
»Don’t wait up for me, kids«, Robert informed them and strode out the door with a little wave, only to appear back in the frame a second later, the paper bags more or less secured under his arms and a determined, almost sinister look on his face. His eyes fixed on Eames, he said gravelly: »If you pull any funny shit on him, I will eviscerate you and send your remnants to the north pole, are we clear?«  
Arthur sighed and let his head fall back against the wall behind him, staring up at the ceiling and waiting for Eames to answer. It took him a fair few seconds before he replied with a clearing of his throat »Uh, yes…?«  
When Arthur lowered his eyes from the ceiling again, Robert had closed the door behind him and Eames was still standing in the center of the room, looking partly intimidated but mostly a bit lost.

»So. That’s my roommate«, Arthur finally said after meeting Eames’ confused eyes. »Robert is his name, I’m not sure he mentioned.«  
Eames nodded slowly but Arthur wasn’t sure what that was supposed to mean. »He’s, uh, he’s quite the character.«  
Arthur couldn’t supress the smile when he nodded. »Yeah, he is. He’s not usually like this- _this_ , he doesn’t go around calling people ‘peasants’ and ‘children’. Mostly. Though he usually is this intense, just … in a bit less theatrical way.«  
»He should do drama«, Eames suggested and distractedly made his way to Arthur, sitting down next to him with a sigh like he really needed to sit down after that encounter.  
Arthur snorted. »I dare you to suggest that to his father.«  
Eames pulled a face, shrugging and nodding at the same time, like he understood exactly what Arthur meant by that. He kicked his shoes off and scooted back on Arthur’s bed until their arms were pressed together, sitting in the exact same position next to each other.

»This is your room then«, Eames said after a beat of silence and looked around. Arthur’s side was maybe a bit tidier than usual, the books and DVDs on his shelves all straight and orderly now, dirty clothes washed and currently in the dryer, and although Eames couldn’t see it Arthur had folded all his clothes perfectly in his wardrobe. Robert’s half wasn’t too bad either, there were a few articles of clothing peeking out from beneath the doors of his wardrobe, his shoes were shoved carelessly into a pile under the bed and his nightstand wasn’t closed properly, beer cans glinting inside, but other than that fairly tidy. »It’s nice.«  
The one big window by their desks, letting light into the room during the day, was framed by a pair of curtains, but right now it only mirrored the lit inside of the room as it was pretty dark outside already. Robert hadn’t put anything on the walls but Arthur’d found this great poster a while back, with all these different winding stairs creating a Paradox that made you dizzy if you looked at it too long.

»It’s okay«, Arthur shrugged looking around. At home he’d had a bigger room, without of course having to share it, but he liked it like this. »Sheer luck Robert and I were thrown together, since we were both looking for company more than anything.«  
»It’s a bit«, Eames sniffed. »A bit _clean_ , I’d say. Did you do this especially for me? Aw.«  
»Shut up«, Arthur snorted and pushed against Eames’s shoulder lightly, when he was elbowed in the side, wriggling eyebrows already in motion. »Some people actually do like to live tidily, unbelievable I know, but true.«  
Eames gasped in offence, his mouth forming a perfect O. »Are you trying to say I’m messy?«  
»I would never even dream of suggesting such a thing«, Arthur replied dryly and successfully held in an oncoming smile. Eames poked him in the ribs in retaliation, which made Arthur squeak in the most undignified way possible. Arthur shot him a warning look, daring him to do that again, and Eames smiled angelically.

»What about your family then?«, Eames said, changing topics swiftly. »You know all about my family but I know nothing about yours – apart from you being filthy rich I mean.«  
Arthur wouldn’t call all those snippets of gossip he’d heard, one more unbelievable than the other, ‘knowing all about’ Eames’ family, especially seeing as Eames hadn’t really told him anything to help him find the truth behind all those stories. But maybe he would go first, maybe Eames’d tell him more once Arthur’d done the same.  
»I’m not _filthy_ rich«, Arthur insisted on first, though, because that was just rude. »My father left me and my mother a bit of money, which I’m using to pay for my studies at the moment.«  
»And your posh-arse suits, and silk ties and designer shoes«, Eames added, mouth twitching teasingly as he slowly looked up and down Arthur’s torso clad in said ‘posh-arse shirt’, even though Arthur would like to point out that he wasn’t wearing a silk tie, thank you very much. Not every tie he owned was made from silk after all.  
Eames held up his hands quickly, even though his mouth was still curled teasingly. »I like it, do keep wearing ties and all that. You look delicious, makes me want to unwrap you slowly.«  
»I’m not a present«, Arthur reminded him as sternly as possible with heat rising up his neck and his mind chanting ‘yes yes yes’ again. »Can you actually listen or do you just like interrupting me too much?«  
Eames simply batted his eyelashes and pressed his lips together.

»Well, when I was thirteen I got a step-brother, Dean, and a step-dad, Richard«, Arthur started again slowly, waiting for another interruption, and at the same time he tried to talk down his blush. »They live in New Mexico with my mom. I’m gonna visit them soon … not sure when, though. Haven’t really, uh, planned it yet.«  
» _You_ , actual Arthur, haven’t planned it yet?«, Eames repeated in over-dramatized surprise. »How can this be?«  
»I’m just not sure, when’s the best time to go«, Arthur mumbled. Truth was, he’d always had this feeling of Rich not approving of anything he was doing, and he tried to avoid that feeling as much as he could. He did want to see his mother, though, he just had to stop procrastinating and book a plane ticket already. Dean was on his trip around Europe, he wouldn’t be home anyway.  
When Eames nudged his shoulder he looked up to find Eames’ face close enough for their noses to brush, his teeth looking even more charmingly crooked from this angle. Before Arthur could react, there was a hand at his jaw, fingers pressing slightly to tip his head just the right way so Eames’ mouth could cover his fully. It was just a soft press of lips, warm breath, a sweet taste, then it was over. Eames was smiling happily about his accomplishment of having surprised Arthur.  
»Make sure to warn me before you flee to New Mexico, yeah?«, he said jokingly but Arthur still nodded in answer, a bit dazed by the unsuspected kiss.

»Won’t you be visiting your family?«, Arthur blurted out the first thing that came to his mind with Eames still this close.  
Eames shrugged and pulled back enough to rest the back of his head against the wall behind him. »Yeah, I think I’m gonna go annoy my sister in New York for a while. She’s always on about how much she’s missing me and how I neglect her and never come see her – but once I’m at hers it’s good for all about two hours until she’s cursing me out and telling me she wishes I hadn’t come.« With a dramatic sigh Eames gave Arthur a look like a kicked-puppy and shook his head. »Women, I’ll never understand what’s going on inside their heads.«  
Arthur cooed mockingly and briefly petted Eames’ chest in consolation. »Maybe, y’know, maybe it’s not her and you’re just a real dick.«  
Eames tried to look offended but the snort of laughter bursting out at the same time ruined the effect as he pushed Arthur’s hand from his chest.

Instead of letting go, though, he held onto Arthur’s wrist and pushed until he was lying on his back, one wrist pinned beside his head, with Eames kneeling over him, a triumphant grin on his lips. Arthur knew his hair looked a mess and his shirt was rumpled and ridden up, already. He didn’t even squirm or try to get away, just looked up, still and waiting, taking in the change visible on Eames’ face from simple triumph to dark and hot. Arthur pulled his knees up in one fluent motion until they were bracketing Eames’ hips, the insides of his knees brushing Eames slightly. The moment Eames’ focus shifted and he ducked down, Arthur put his free hand up, simultaneously pushing Eames’ face away and twisting his wrist free. He crossed his ankles behind Eames’ back and with one full-body-strain he managed to turn them around, Eames now beneath him as he kneeled above him, out of breath and flushed but grinning wide.  
Eames owlishly blinked up at him for a few seconds but made no move to turn them around again. Quite the opposite, all tension left his body and he sank down pliantly, eyes open and wide, lips parted and relaxed, looking even softer now even as they pulled into an answering smile. »So, now that you’ve got me on my back, what do you intend to do to me?«  
God, but Arthur wanted to taste that always moving mouth. Before he could change his mind he leaned down, quicker than Eames’d done before, not giving him any chance to reverse their positions the same way Arthur’d done. But Eames didn’t resist in any way, his hands stayed lax even when Arthur’s grip on his wrists tightened reflexively. He let Arthur press their lips together and hummed low in his throat when Arthur gasped in surprise at the feeling of Eames’ warm, silky tongue darting into his mouth.

Bending down like this wasn’t very comfortable at all, and Eames was showing no signs of planning to overpower Arthur again, so he slowly let go of Eames’ wrists and bent his arms until he could rest his weight on his elbows. Like this their bodies were much closer, the heat radiating from Eames now detectable and deliciously close, even though Arthur didn’t fully rest his body on Eames’, yet, just held himself an inch or so above. Eames obviously registered the other advantage this new position had and after a polite minute, there they were, Eames’ hands warm and big and resting on Arthur’s waist. The grip wasn’t as polite as that one minute of coy waiting to touch had been, it was firm and Eames’ thumbs were immediately in danger of slipping under Arthur’s waistband. His fingers were spread out, as though trying to cover as much of Arthur as possible, a slight pressure on just where his back curved into his bum.  
Arthur hummed in contentment; this was exactly what he’d hoped for. It was maybe a bit pathetic for him to just want to make out on his bed with Eames, like a horny teenager, but Arthur couldn’t really bring himself to care – not with Eames touching him like this.

After a while, during which Arthur learned that holding himself above Eames like this wasn’t a position he could relax in, either, and was just debating on whether or not to just lower himself that last inch and rest fully atop Eames, Eames took the decision from him. His grip on Arthur’s ass-not-really-ass-but-almost tightened and he pulled just so, causing Arthur to lose his balance and land right on top of Eames. It wasn’t very elegant as Arthur let out a surprised »oof« when he fell, and their teeth clicked together painfully. Reflexively he pulled back, getting as much distance between their faces as possible in this position, but before he could even contemplate if this was something he should feel embarrassed about, Eames started laughing and, in effect, Arthur got shaken thoroughly on top of him.  
Arthur needed a second to just stare down at Eames’ face in astonishment, his crooked teeth on full display like this, the corners of his eyes all crinkled up and his lashes almost touching with how far closed they were. How could he look this much like an absolute dork and still be attractive? The only appropriate response, obviously, was to glare down at him, while trying to repress the responding grin that was trying to spread on his face. Eames only laughed harder, his fingers dug into Arthur’s sides to hold him in place as he was shaken some more, before Eames finally toned his laughter down a bit until it was only just the trace of a smirk on his distractingly full lips and why did Arthur have to think of them wrapped around his dick just now, when he was trying to look stoic and unimpressed?

»You always look kinda dangerous, but also slightly adorable when you’re frowning like this, d’you know that?« Eames let go of one side of his hips to rub a finger over where Arthur’s forehead was all crinkled up with his very serious and manly glare, thank you very much.  
»Shut up«, he said and tried to sound less pouty and more like an adult to be taken seriously.  
»What’re you frowning about then, darling?«, Eames asked conversationally, and kept insistently smoothing out the lines on Arthur’s forehead. The way his thumb started rubbing synchronized circles under the hem of Arthur’s shirt, was very distracting. »I’m pretty happy with all this, why’ve you gone all pouty?«  
»I’m not«, Arthur retorted, not even sure himself what exactly he was denying here. That he was ‘all pouty’ or that he was ‘happy with all this’? This was obviously Eames’ circle-rubbing-thumb’s fault, usually Arthur was plenty articulate.  
»You’re not what?«  
Eames sounded like he knew exactly what he was doing to Arthur. With a last glare he dropped his forehead on Eames’ shoulder and took a deep breath. »Sometimes you’re so exhausting, honestly.«  
»Mmmh«, Eames hummed, very close to Arthur’s ear. »So we went from ‘I literally can’t stand the sight of your face’ to ‘sometimes you’re exhausting’, huh? Coming from you, that’s basically a declaration of love.«

There was a hand in Arthur’s nape, so he couldn’t lift his head and glare at Eames for that. Maybe it was for the best, though, because Arthur’s face was approximately the shade of a very dark tomato by now, so he just released a muffled, protesting groan into Eames’s shoulder. Then there was warm breath ghosting over his ear and neck, the hand on his nape shifted, adjusted and the hand on his hip slid up far enough, to now be fully under Arthur’s shirt. Lips were pressing light kisses, hot and soft, along the line of his neck and Arthur was too caught up in it all to repress the full body shiver in response to the ministrations. Eames wasn’t sucking full on lovebites into Arthur’s neck, but he was pressing hot, open mouthed kisses right behind his ear, and those were definitely teeth that had grazed his earlobe for a second there.  
Arthur was bunching up the sheets where he’d fisted his hands into the duvet underneath Eames’ back. He had his eyes closed and pressed his face even further into Eames’ shoulder, which made it impossible to breathe through his nose. Arthur had to open his mouth and was helpless to hear the weak keening sound rising from the back of his throat when Eames’ fingers pulled slightly at the ends of his hair as the tip of his tongue traced the shell of his ear. His neck was very sensitive, it appeared … why hadn’t he known that before?

The hand gripping his flank under his shirt was pulling him down insistently, increasing the pressure between their aligned hips, and Arthur was sure Eames could feel the tremor of anticipation running through his abdomen. Eames was trailing kisses along Arthur’s jawline now, and untangled Arthur’s hair from his fingers. Arthur took a shaky breath and lifted his face enough to actually breathe through his nose again, though he kept his eyes closed and had to swallow before opening them again. The tip of Eames’ nose was grazing his chin, eyes wide open, and the look he was giving Arthur was part playful, and part dark and deep and hot. Arthur stared back for a long moment, trying to decide what to do, then he let go of the sheets bunched up in his hands to bury one in Eames’ hair and pull, slowly, until Eames’ head was pressed back into the duvet, the long, strong line of his throat on full display. He could see Eames swallow, the movement of his Adams apple clearly visible along the exposed arch of his throat.  
Arthur waited another few seconds, and only when he felt Eames’ hand spasm slightly by his ribs, he dipped down and closed his mouth around the soft tan skin just below Eames’ chin. Eames took a deep, deliberately slow breath and his fingertips pressed into Arthur’s skin, otherwise staying perfectly still while Arthur opened his mouth to let the tip of his tongue sneak out for a second. With his free hand, Arthur pulled on the collar of Eames’ shirt to reveal his collarbones, and dragged his lips down and over Eames’ stubble to the dip where his collarbones met. He could feel Eames’ pulse beating quick and strong there and sucked just the smallest bit on the soft skin, stretched taut over strong bones. Eames tasted like salt and a little bitter, like cologne that had worn off throughout the day, but he still smelled like the heat of the sun on skin and wind on a beach.

Inhaling deeply, Arthur pushed himself back and up into a sitting position, so that he was straddling Eames’ hips and balancing his weight with his hands on Eames’ abdomen, the muscles tense under his palms. Eames’ hands settled on Arthur’s hips again, fingertips pushing under his shirt boldly this time, nothing hesitant or sneaky about it.  
»What’s up with you«, Arthur asked, trying to hide how breathless he felt. He cocked his head to the side and lifted his chin in an effort to appear unfazed, even though he knew his face was flushed and his lips felt swollen when he licked them. »You’ve never been this _gentlemanly_ about it, before. What’s changed?«  
Eames’ eyebrows lifted up as he rose up to the challenge. »You seemed so happy about being on top, I thought I’d wait and see where this goes.«  
Arthur’d never been this tempted to growl at anyone. Instead of giving in to that urge, he dug his fingernails briefly into Eames’ stomach and when he flinched in surprise Arthur pushed the fabric of his shirt up until it was bunched up under his armpits. »Off.«  
»Aren’t you afraid that madman is gonna come wandering back in any second?«, Eames asked, nodding to the door, but pulled off his shirt without hesitation, which pleased Arthur much more than it probably should.  
He kept his eyes firmly on Eames’ face, his hair now even more mussed than it already had been, to avoid drinking in the sight of his torso, and tattoos, and most likely having his mouth dry up at the sight. »I’ll be surprised if Robert even finds the right room when he stumbles back sometime in the morning.«

He hesitated for another second then jumped off Eames and quickly locked the door, then hurried back to the bed. In the meantime Eames had sat up, his legs now crossed underneath him and Arthur fleetingly noticed his feet were bare. Arthur bounced awkwardly on the mattress from the speed with which he’d thrown himself onto the bed, his hair a tangled mess hanging into his face and his shirt hopelessly rumpled. Eames was wearing his familiar smirk again, but his eyes were twinkling with carefree happiness which somehow managed to eliminate that feeling of a joke gone over Arthur’s head, which usually arose with this particular smirk. »Should he decide to come back earlier than usual, though, we won’t have a problem.«  
Eames’ smile softened a bit and he looked at Arthur, contemplating for a moment before suddenly crowding his space and leaning close. »Now you’re the gentleman – how very considerate of you.«  
Arthur was pulled into another kiss by a hand in his nape again, another kiss that left him breathless and helplessly melting into Eames’ arms as he rose up to his knees and towered over Arthur, tilting his head up and curving around him to use the height advantage as leverage. One hand held Arthur in place, the other rose up, tugged on his tie, and opened Arthur’s shirt button for button, no rush this time even though there was still that underlying urgency. Arthur shivered when the cool air hit his exposed chest and stomach, and he wrapped one arm around Eames shoulders to pull him closer and steal his body heat. Eames complied easily while pushing Arthur’s now open shirt and completely loosened tie down first one shoulder, then the other. The sleeve got shortly tangled on one wrist and then Arthur lost his balance when he tried to help Eames shrug off the other one. There was a moment of ‘oh shit, I’m falling’, then his back hit the covers and Eames was kneeling above him, shirtless and glorious, with only his old, baggy jeans on.

Without missing a beat, Eames pulled the tangled shirt out from underneath Arthur’s back and only when he’d discarded with it onto the floor (a part of Arthur’s brain immediately going ‘that’s not where that belongs and you should get up and store it away properly _right now_ ’) did he look back at Arthur. He was propped up on his knees and only one outstretched arm over Arthur, so there was plenty of room for him to let his eyes wander down Arthur’s neck and torso, until Arthur had to curl his hands into fists by his sides to refrain from fidgeting.  
He wasn’t built like Eames with bulging muscles shaping him in just the right way and miles of tanned, golden skin inked black in just the right places – he was pale and slim and sleek, like a race horse, and although he’d never thought himself fat or too thin, he certainly wasn’t above having body image issues just like the next person, when scrutinized like this. When Eames looked back up into Arthur’s face again, he had to force himself to meet his eyes. He was expecting the hand settling on his hipbone, so he didn’t jump at the warm weight when it came down exactly where he’d presumed it would. When Eames started stroking his thumb over the thin, sensitive skin just above his waistband, though, Arthur could do nothing about the goosebumps rising there.

He didn’t have time to think about it all too much, because Eames bent his arm and leaned down to capture Arthur’s lips in another bruising kiss and how would he ever get tired of this if Eames tasted like this, his tongue cleverly slipping in and teasingly nudging his teeth. Impatiently he tugged Eames further down, dug his fingers into Eames’ back and probably scratched him accidentally when he fumbled with the button of Eames’ jeans.  
Eames leaned back a little but didn’t help Arthur at all, just stayed there close enough for their lips to touch and hot breath heating even further up between them. Just when Arthur had the button finally open and was gripping the zipper, Eames’ tongue darted out to lick his upper lip and Arthur promptly let go of the zipper. Instead of fumbling for it again he decided to just pull on Eames’ jeans so the zipper opened by itself, while biting Eames in retaliation. He looked unbothered by the bite when Arthur leaned back to tug Eames’ jeans properly down his legs. Because of his position, practically caged underneath Eames, he couldn’t reach very far though, so he when his arms weren’t long enough anymore he brought up his legs and shoved the jeans further down with his heels, all the while dryly meeting Eames amused look. At least Eames helped him by kicking them off his feet the last bit and they fell onto the floor with next to no sound.  
»Happy?«, Eames asked with one lifted eyebrow.  
He was wearing black boxer briefs that clung to his hips sinfully, especially in comparison to how his jeans had hung from them before. Arthur’s mouth went dry and he couldn’t help how his eyes automatically zeroed in on the bulge visible between Eames’ thighs.  
»Very«, he responded, impressed by how steady his own voice sounded.

»I’m glad my dick is that pleasing to you«, Eames snorted and hooked a thumb in the waistband of Arthur’s trousers. »Especially since we’ve already established how pleasing yours is.«  
Arthur had trouble evening his breath out with Eames’ hand basically pressed up against him like this. He seemed intent on opening Arthur’s trousers one-handed and agonizingly slow, and was pretty successful too, seeing as his hand was already inside. Despite the tremors of heat that had sweat breaking out on his back and neck, Arthur managed to dig his fingers into the short hair at the back of Eames’ head and even lifted his hips to help him shove them down. »That so?«  
»Hum«, made Eames distractedly, more focused on getting Arthur’s trousers over his hips and the swell of his ass, than keeping up the conversation about dicks that he started. He sat back on his haunches and tugged the fabric down Arthur’s thighs, but then halted to stroke one big warm hand up one thigh slowly. He flashed a smile when he looked up from his hand and into Arthur’s face again. »You’ve got legs for bloody days, you know that?«  
Arthur didn’t know how to respond to that and just stayed silent, watching as Eames slid his hand up and up and to the soft inside of his thigh, heat coiling low in his abdomen. Before Eames’ fingers reached the fabric of Arthur’s briefs, he stopped and tugged his trousers fully off Arthur’s legs, dropping them next to the bed onto his own jeans. Only then he crawled back up over Arthur, his eyes hungrily trailing up his body.

»So, the other day«, Eames said nonchalantly even as he let his weight settle on top of Arthur and his hips started moving in these circles … Eames had one hand in Arthur’s hair again, a spot Arthur came to realize Eames seemed to like, and tilted Arthur’s face just the way he could press the words coming out of his mouth directly into Arthur’s lips, slightly parted in distraction by the swivelling motion of hips that made Eames’ hard length slide dizzyingly against his own. »The other day, you said … «  
Oh god, what’d he say? Arthur wanted to grimace, to cringe, but Eames gave him no way out holding him in place like this, and frankly it was quite hard to remember why this was so embarrassing while he was preoccupied with swallowing down all the little noises of appreciation rising up in the back of his throat. Still, Arthur prided himself on keeping a cool head in any situation, and even with slight delay he remembered. _He’d told Eames he’d be too nervous to have sex with him sober._ Well, if that wasn’t mortifying, Arthur didn’t know what was.  
He might as well have painted ‘I’m a twenty-one year old virgin!’ on his forehead in neon colours. Eames was many things but stupid or inattentive weren’t among them. And Arthur really did not want to talk about this, he didn’t need to, he wasn’t naïve, he’d known about sex since he was fourteen and had discovered porn websites through Dean. And by fifteen he’d known about his preference for men, even though it took him until he was almost seventeen until he ordered his first dildo online. He wasn’t a ‘blushing virgin’, Arthur knew as much about sex as he ever would without actually doing it. Why it was _Eames_ he’d somehow decided was good enough for trying it, he couldn’t really explain, but he didn’t need to. 

He wasn’t quite sure where this would’ve gone had he not interrupted Eames as soon as he’d finished that line of thought, but he did and there was nothing to it. Arthur just blurted out the first half-sensible thing that came to his mind: »Well, I really _do_ owe you a blow job, you know. I wasn’t kidding.«  
Arthur knew blow jobs, not only knew, he’s good at them. This is territory he was familiar with, this he could handle. So before Eames could do anything more than suck in a sharp breath Arthur pushed against his bare chest – and oh did it feel amazing under his palm, hot and strong and covered in tiny little hairs – and up his own body until Eames was straddling his shoulders, knees on either side of Arthur’s head.  
Eames looked a bit dumbstruck as he blinked down at Arthur between his thighs, his hands already pressed against the wall. »Uhm.«  
Arthur flashed him a toothy grin before dipping his hand into Eames’ underwear and taking a hold of the heated, hardening cock he found there. The fabric of Eames’ briefs was slightly damp when he pulled it down and he could taste precome on the glistening head when he poked his tongue out for a coquettish lick and a look up at Eames through his eyelashes.  
»Fuck«, was all Eames managed and stared down at Arthur with wide eyes, seemingly more green than blue when the pupils had swallowed most of the irises.

Arthur could feel the strain in his neck already but there was something about this position, something that made him feel so much more powerful just because Eames could overpower him in seconds like this, but he didn’t, he let Arthur do whatever he wanted to him. And so Arthur closed his lips around the head and started suckling lightly at first, one hand gripping the curve of Eames’ strong thigh to hold on, the other rubbing over the sensitive skin between groin and thigh then down, down until he could carefully cup Eames’ balls and squeeze gently. The moan above him was accompanied by a slight thud but Arthur couldn’t open his eyes right now to look up and see what was going on. The soft swearing would have to do.  
He dug his nails into Eames’ thigh when his hips started twitching, before sliding down and taking him deeper into his mouth when Eames froze obediently. There were tremors running through Eames’ thighs by now and he could feel the little tiny aborted thrusts Eames couldn’t help, when Arthur hollowed his cheeks and pulled off slowly. Dick shiny with saliva when it popped free, Arthur took a moment to just look at the quivering abs it was straining up against, and rolled Eames’ balls thoughtfully until he noticed it smearing precome right below Eames’ bellybutton. Eames was suspiciously quiet above him but that changed when Arthur leaned up to lick the liquid right off his skin and brushing against the sensitive head without actually paying it attention, Eames’ swears getting more and more colourful. Apparently his accent ratcheted up a notch when he was aroused too, Arthur noticed and mouthed his way down Eames’s shaft until he could start sucking wet sloppy kisses around his own fingers still lightly massaging his balls.

»Fuck, this is … I mean I imagined but … _shit_ , Arthur! There, there, right … oh, fuckin’ hell, I want … yes, fuck-yes, so good, Arthur … beautiful, smart, t-talented little Arthur– knew that mouth you have on you was gonna be amazing. Fuck, don’t stop … Arthur … _Arthur_.«  
And, apparently, Eames was also pretty vocal in bed when his mouth wasn’t stuffed with cock. To be fair, Arthur wasn’t particularly surprised by this, at least not as surprised as he was by the lick of heat and satisfaction and _want_ he felt at the praise. He sucked Eames’ cock back into his mouth, all the way down, and hummed in appreciation of Eames’ words. The babbling continued above his head but Arthur couldn’t really pay attention to that, not when he’d suddenly been made aware of his own state of arousal. His dick was straining against his briefs, drooling precome all over his lower belly, but he couldn’t do anything about it, not even rub against the sheets since he was lying on his back with nothing but thin air to thrust up into.  
The whine that rose up in his throat wasn’t fully muffled by Eames’ cock in his mouth and he would be embarrassed about that noise if he wasn’t so desperate. He could probably slide a hand down and around himself, but for that he’d either have to let go of Eames’ balls and that wasn’t gonna happen, not if it made Eames continue to make those noises, or he’d have to let go of Eames’ thigh, which was equally inconvenient since he was pretty sure he couldn’t keep himself up in this position without clinging onto Eames. Doing nothing, though, ended up with Arthur’s hips thrusting up uselessly anyway, and the sound that escaped him this time was positively pleading, even though he sucked harder to muffle it.  
Then there were gentle hands in his hair, combing it back and out of his face carefully. Eames made a shushing sound above him and it took a moment for Arthur realize the deep moan reverberating between them was his own response to the way Eames started massaging just behind Arthur’s ears. He was helping Arthur keep his head up with a hand in his nape and also relieved him of straining quite so hard by meeting his movements halfway with small thrusts.

»So beautiful«, Eames murmured and his voice sounded as raw as Arthur’s throat felt when the tip hit the back of it again. He swallowed and tried to look into Eames’ face even though it made him feel a bit cross eyed. »Perfect … «  
Eames’ face was flushed dark and sweaty, the hair was dark and damp by his temples and his lips were bitten red. From this angle Arthur looked up all the way along the stretch of Eames’ torso which happened to be covered in a light sheen of sweat and was glinting devastatingly tempting in the light. Arthur’s hips made another futile little thrust and he opened his mouth wider to take Eames even deeper from the lack of touching on his own neglected cock. Eames’ thrust forward made him slide right down Arthur’s throat and for a second they were both staring, eyes wide and surprised, then Arthur had to swallow heavily and Eames pulled out with a shuddering moan. Arthur tried his hardest not to cough or clear his voice, the back of his throat tingling and itching, but he was determined. This was what he was good at, this was what he _knew_. He would not start coughing like it had been something totally unexpected.  
»Shit – Arthur«, Eames rasped, fingers on Arthur’s jaw and tracing his stretched, tingling lips. Eames sounded wrecked and from the heavy feel of his balls in Arthur’s palm and the flushed bright red of his straining length right in front of Arthur’s face, he really was. Without further ado Arthur slid his hand around Eames’ thigh to his ass and pulled him in again, Eames’ hand still supporting his neck. He wasted no time on finesse anymore, he just sucked sloppily and as hard as he could without it turning painful, but it was only when he tongued at that tiny spot just below the head, that Eames’ grip in his hair got painful and his muscles started seizing up under Arthur’s hand. He could hear Eames’ breath hitch and then the hoarse sound he made weakly attempting to pull Arthur off, but it was too late when Arthur felt his mouth flooded with heat, salty strange tang sliding over his tongue as he swallowed.

Eames was breathing heavily above him, trying to regain his breath, but Arthur wasted no time and let his head fall back into the pillow, let go of Eames’ thigh and immediately wrapped a hand around himself. It took only four strokes then he was coming, half of it caught within his briefs that he hadn’t bothered to push down properly, half of it spurting over his belly and chest and possibly hitting Eames’ back and ass. That thought alone made Arthur grit his teeth, clench his eyes closed harder and bury the moan along with his face sideways into the pillow.  
When he blinked his eyes open again, Eames had shimmied down a bit but was still crouching above him, his hair in complete disarray and his face obviously post-coital, satisfied and soft and dopey as it looked. One corner of his mouth was pulled up and there was this softness around his eyes that suddenly reminded Arthur of an over-affectionate puppy.  
»Fuckin’ hell, Arthur«, Eames said and there were fingers on Arthur’s jaw again, rubbing over the corner of his mouth. »That was … where did that come from?«  
»Regretting saying no before, are we?«, Arthur retorted quickly and winced – damn, his voice was absolutely wrecked. Feeling Eames lying soft and warm right on top of him though, totally worth it.  
Eames’ smile didn’t vanish but he did roll himself sideways so he could plaster himself to Arthurs side, hair falling into his eyes when he let his head fall onto the pillow next to Arthur, and one hand was already busy drawing patterns over Arthur’s pecs. »Actually, no. You were drunk. Would’ve been a lot less fun, I think.«

Arthur felt sweaty and gross and warm and like he just wanted to curl up to Eames and nod off. He couldn’t of course, waking up with dried come crusted all over him wasn’t something he was particularly fond of, and he’d also like to brush his teeth, but the bathrooms were across the corridor and he had no desire to drag himself there at the moment.  
»It was fun, wasn’t it«, he yawned and tried to keep his eyes open. The muscles in the back of his neck felt a bit sore but before he could complain about it there were suddenly warm, gentle fingertips rubbing circles into the tense muscles.  
»Was perfect«, Eames agreed casually while kneading the tension out of Arthur’s neck and Arthur could’ve kissed him right then and there if his mouth hadn’t tasted gross and he hadn’t been too busy melting into the mattress.

About twenty minutes later he woke up to discover he’d apparently nodded off and he even managed to pester Eames out of the bed with him. Used T-Shirts and shorts quickly pulled on and with fresh t-shirts (Arthur’s) and boxers (Arthur’s) in their arms, they snuck through the corridor avoiding eye contact with anyone coming by until they reached the bathrooms. They showered separately, a fact Arthur was grateful for since he still felt gross and washing himself in front of Eames wasn’t something he thought he’d want to do very soon anyway.  
Afterwards Arthur brushed his teeth while Eames stole a bit of toothpaste and rubbed it over his teeth with a finger for the lack of a toothbrush. Eames’ hair was almost dry again when they returned to Arthur’s room, while Arthur’s stupid strands kept dripping water everywhere and dampened his fresh shirt as well as his pillow. Eames didn’t seem to give a shit, he just threw an arm across Arthur’s middle and shuffled as close as possible on the small bed, tangled their legs together under the duvet and pushed his nose into Arthur’s hair. Breath smelling of mint-toothpaste and their skins dry and clean Arthur didn’t mind the proximity one bit, but was unsure what to do himself. He settled for laying one hand on Eames’ wrist on his stomach, closing his eyes to the darkness of the room and turning his face slightly into Eames’.

Robert wasn’t back the next morning and Eames announced he’d be off visiting his sister in New York by the end of the week. Maybe Arthur’d like to meet up on Thursday? Make fun of stupid movies or something like that? Arthur said yes without even having to think about it. When he skyped with his Mom later that day, Robert finally stumbled in and the only thing Arthur got for having prepared a glass of water and two painkillers, was an offhand comment about Arthur’s ‘boyfriend’. Arthur almost had a heart attack and of course his Mom wouldn’t let it go, not even when he cleared up that Eames wasn’t his boyfriend (right?). She insisted on inviting Eames to come visit her and Rich, anyway, and even made Robert promise to report to her about whether or not Arthur actually asked Eames before declining. Sometimes Arthur really hated Robert from the bottom of his heart. He also kind of loved his mom for suggesting this, because there’s this warm gooey feeling fluttering somewhere by his stomach-area when he thought about Eames … but mostly it’s just dread, to be honest. And annoyance. And this is all Robert’s fault, anyway. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh, yeah i've noticed I just wrote the whole thring from Arthur's perspective - can't really promise the next chapter won't be Arthur's perspective as well, but after that you'll get Eames back, I promise!
> 
> Say hi on tumblr! http://dont-kill-my-darling.tumblr.com/
> 
> Disclaimer: Inception and its characters aren't mine


	11. You get too close

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLOT MOVEMENT! Yay. Hope y'all like it and a huge thank you to deinvati for the lovely comment on the last chapter! It made me so happy it made me finally finish this chapter :)
> 
> Chapter Title: Habits of my Heart - Jaymes Young

\- **Arthur** \- 

It wasn’t until Thursday morning, that Arthur saw Eames again, and it didn’t quite go as he would’ve imagined. He was going out to get some food, and because Robert was starting to get on his nerves again Arthur thought getting the food from the delivery place rather than letting them bring it to him, would help. A bit of fresh air was never a bad idea, was it?  
Yusuf had recommended this Indian place about four blocks away, and so Arthur decided he’d go there and try it. Robert hated spicy food as a rule, his whole face went bright red and his eyes started watering immediately as soon as spice hit his tongue. So maybe there was a bit of revenge in Arthur’s choice of food. If Robert was allowed to be a dick ninety-nine percent of the time, Arthur should be allowed to be one as well, now and again.

He was thinking about inviting Ariadne over, until he remembered that she’d gone home a few days ago. Her family lived in Chicago, so she was technically not ‘out of the city’ or whatever, but Arthur decided not to bother her in just the first days of her being home. Her family had plans to go to Florida for two weeks, and Arthur wasn’t quite sure if they weren’t already there, so chances were she was out of reach already, anyways.  
Thinking about her led him to thinking about Yusuf, and if maybe he was still on campus? Arthur hadn’t thought to ask Eames about it, and he was fiddling with his phone, debating on whether or not to text Yusuf, when he rounded a corner and almost ran into someone. He managed to catch himself just in time and had his mouth opened to apologize, when he realized the stranger hadn’t even noticed him.

After examining the situation, Arthur felt like he might’ve been lucky too. The stranger had his back to Arthur but it was a very impressive back. He was clad in a ripped jacket that seemed way too hot for this time of the year, jeans about ready to fall off and a ridiculous red bandana wrapped around his wrist.  
And Stranger wasn’t alone, apparently.  
Arthur counted five red bandanas in all of the seven people, wrapped around various body parts. One of them even had it around his ankle. They were standing and leaning against the building in a semi-circle, cigarette-smoke curling from all but one.

One of the bandana-less people was talking in a low murmur down to his feet, where the second bandana-less man was seated with his back against the wall behind him, chatting seemingly without a care in the world. He had one knee brought up and his wrist draped over it, holding a cigarette between his fingers, the other leg stretched out before him. Even without a bandana he stood out in his ill-fitting but hole-lacking pants and a cotton blue shirt that was buttoned almost to the top. His tanned skin stood out against the fading colour of his shirt and from the collar, on the side of his neck, there was the barest hint of a very familiar tattoo. His hair looked neat, though, combed back and slick, which covered up the blonde strands Arthur knew where there. He was smiling, even slyer than usual. He was also gesturing loosely with the hand holding the cigarette.  
He was also Eames.

Arthur had taken all this in, in just a few seconds, but he’d still lingered too long. Eames’ eyes, an amused and achingly familiar crinkle around them, fell from the big guy Arthur had almost run into to Arthur’s face staring at him from somewhere near big-guy’s shoulder. Eames blinked in surprise and his mouth stopped producing words, which then led to the rest of the group turning to stare at Arthur suspiciously.

»Uhm«, he said.  
Eames didn’t respond. His face was blank, lips still parted as if to speak, and his eyes staring completely clueless at Arthur. He looked neither surprised, nor horrified or embarrassed (or, you know, happy to see Arthur). He looked literally blank, as though his brain had stopped working there for a minute.  
»Sorry«, Arthur apologized quickly and backed away, while sending an apologetic nod to the whole group. »I, ah … mistook you for someone else. Carry on.«  
As he turned and fled the scene with slightly quicker steps than necessary, he heard a snort. »Yeah, piss off. Weirdo.«  
It was an unfamiliar voice but it might as well have been Eames’.

Arthur didn’t really think about what he was ordering when he finally reached the Indian place Yusuf had told him about. His mind was racing and something in his chest seemed to have constricted painfully, as though he was panicking. Which would be ridiculous, of course. Why would Arthur be panicking – as sketchy as those guys had looked, they hadn’t threatened him or anything.  
Still. Eames had looked familiar enough with them. Were they his friends? Were they some kind of colleagues? This was probably the illegal part of Eames’ life. Or maybe Arthur was reading this all wrong. He was possibly overreacting. But then, why hadn’t Eames ever mentioned these people? If Arthur’d heard about them before, he wouldn’t have been so caught off guard at discovering Eames right in the center of their little group.

He’d known Eames hadn’t led quite the life of a law-abiding citizen, that particular part wasn’t so surprising. But Arthur hadn’t ever been confronted like this with this side of Eames’ life before. Eames hadn’t even _mentioned_ it to him. Them. Whatever.  
Maybe they were just normal kids, who just liked to dress like homeless douchebags, that was a possibility … but who was he kidding. They all looked about a decade older than Eames, at the least. They did seem a bit stupid, though, and Arthur was fairly sure he could beat them in a physical fight so long as they came at him one at a time; for as muscly and strong as half of them looked, they didn’t seem to be the most intelligent beings on the planet. Since Arthur knew that Eames himself wasn’t half as stupid as he sometimes acted, it didn’t quite answer the question why the hell Eames would hang out with these people, though. They were in no way what Arthur would have imagined Eames’ friends to be like.  
They looked like the kind of ‘gang’ that the real bosses sent out to intimidate the small folk in movies, while they themselves had no clue as to why they were being sent. 

Arthur absentmindedly thanked the friendly Indian woman handing him the food and took a completely different route back home. He kept his eyes on the concrete below his feet in order to not look up and see some more of Eames’ friends, should they still linger around the area.

He’d kissed Eames. More than once. And he’d liked touching Eames, and feeling Eames’ hands on his own skin. Eames had seen him naked. Arthur’d wanted to sleep with Eames and would’ve already had, if Eames had been into drunk sex. He didn’t regret one single second of it all.  
But all this time Arthur had somehow managed to overlook the fact, that he knew practically nothing about Eames. He didn’t know what Eames did for a living, he didn’t know anything about Eames’ family, aside from some sister existing in New York, and he didn’t know anything at all about Eames’ past. Yes, he’d heard stuff about some illegal sort of activities, but there was no way to tell if there was even one grain of truth to them.  
And now it had come back to hit him in the face, this simple truth that Arthur knew absolutely nothing about the man he was slowly falling for.

By the time he reached the dorm Arthur was already busy talking himself down. He was totally overreacting. That had been what, like, ten seconds? He was obviously making a bigger deal out of this, than it really was. He hadn’t known Eames for that long, after all, he shouldn’t be this thrown off by simply seeing Eames with people he would’ve never pegged to be Eames’ friends.  
This was something Arthur knew he did – actively searching for faults and mistakes in people, so that he later had logical reasons for not having to deal with them. It wasn’t that he tried to avoid confrontations, but rather that he was always bracing himself for them, even if in reality there were no confrontations in sight. Ariadne had told him countless times to stop assuming the worst in people all the time, but he couldn’t help himself. It wasn’t as though he was doing it on purpose after all.  
When he checked his phone, there were no new messages.

Robert complained loudly as soon as he laid eyes on the Indian food Arthur carried and Arthur let him, not in the mood to deal with his whining right now. He dropped the containers off on the table and flopped down on his bed. After a second he pulled out his phone again.  
**See you at five?**  
It took all of two minutes for Eames’ reply. **looking forward ;)**  
Arthur swallowed, something heavy twisting in his stomach. This was gonna be a total disaster.

»You even got the ones with the extra spicy sauce? Ugh, that’s just petty«, Robert grumbled and looked up from the containers he was inspecting at the moment. With a grimace he started to shove the bits of rice and vegetables, that had touched the spicy sauce, to one end of the container. Only then he started spooning the bits that were left, steaming hot still and probably dry as a bone without the sauce. Robert scowled at Arthur throughout the whole time it took him to devour his portion.  
»Did you ask your little sweetheart to come visit the family, yet?«, he asked when he was finished. The napkin he pressed to his mouth looked oddly out of place with the way Arthur had just seen him shovel fast food down his throat.  
»Fuck off, you know I didn’t«, he rolled his eyes and concentrated back on his phone. He should probably eat something. It was almost four and he should definitely have eaten something for lunch before he went to Eames. His stomach churned, though, and Arthur grimaced down at it for being so sensitive.  
»Better do it quick, before I tell your mom about it then«, Robert threatened distractedly while concentrating back on the book he’d been reading for the last week.  
»Go to hell.«  
»Love you too, Archie.«

With a sigh Arthur massaged his temples and closed his eyes. Sometimes he had this fantasy that an assassin would suddenly turn up and shoot Robert in the head already, and it was times like these that kept those fantasies alive and vivid.

 

When Eames opened the door for Arthur at five o’clock later that day, Arthur still hadn’t eaten. All he’d managed was some yoghurt Ariadne had given him before she left, because it would just turn bad if she left it at hers.

Eames’ flat had always smelled lightly of smoke, but never as strongly as it did now. It was cold as well, since Eames had opened a window presumably to let the smoke escape and have some fresh air come in, but it hadn’t really helped. There was an almost empty packet of cigarettes on the coffee table, right next to an ashtray about ready to overflow.  
Eames himself wore no socks, as per usual, but there were no sweatpants either this time. He was still wearing the slack pants from before, and hadn’t changed his shirt. The cotton blue made Eames’ eyes stand out more, even though he’d opened the buttons right down to his sternum, which showed off his solid chest, lightly dusted with dark hair. He looked like a delicious, relaxed version of the stranger Arthur’d come across just a few hours ago.  
Eames had shaved, though, his skin looking smooth and baby-soft, the sharp contours of his jaw lost. Combined with his tangled hair falling freely into his eyes, he looked younger than ever, soft and open.

»Arthur«, he smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling up and his crooked teeth on display as he pulled Arthur inside without hesitation. Clueless what to make of all this, Arthur let himself be pulled in, but didn’t take off his shoes. He had decided to just take his cues from Eames, how he acted, how he would explain everything. Because there was definitely some explanation needed.  
»Eames«, he said with a smile of his own, he couldn’t help. Eames’ hand was warm on his wrist and he looked so relaxed, like everything was right in his world, that Arthur enforced the mantra inside his head again: _you’re overreacting, it’s nothing, don’t get so worked up about tiny things like this._

»I have coffee«, Eames proclaimed proudly and ushered Arthur into his kitchen, where true to his word there was a steaming coffee mug waiting for him. »Sorry for the mess, I’ve been packing for tomorrow.«  
The mess Eames referred to didn’t actually look like packing. To Arthur it looked a lot like someone had pulled out everything Eames’d had stacked in his shelves and started sorting through it with no visible system in mind. And apparently chain-smoked. Arthur couldn’t help the wrinkling of his nose at the sight of the overly full ashtray, and Eames said again: »Sorry.«

»So … uh, you’ve been having friends over?«, Arthur asked as casually as possible while stepping away from Eames and wandering aimlessly through the chaos on the floor. Maybe he could simply coax it out of Eames, if Eames wasn’t sure where and how to start. Arthur understood that.  
»What.« Eames frowned in confusion. Arthur would’ve believed him as clueless as he appeared to be, if there hadn’t been Eames’ hand rubbing the back of his neck unconsciously. His obvious tell if there ever had been one.  
Arthur felt something twist in his gut again. He nodded to the ashtray. »I don’t suppose you managed all that on your own.«  
»Oh!« Eames smiled sheepishly and shrugged, but his eyes were too bright, too sharp for his soft smile. »Meeting my sister is stressing me out a bit. She doesn’t like my smoking much.«  
Arthur waited for him to go on, but when nothing else came he nodded stiffly and nipped at his coffee. It was actually quite good, but is stomach felt numb anyway.

»You need sugar? Cream?«, Eames asked and started enthusiastically rummaging through his kitchen cupboards. »I don’t actually think I have cream, but sugar should be here somewhere …«  
»Thanks, I’m good«, Arthur shook his head. »I like it just plain black, it’s perfect.«  
Eames chuckled, but it sounded wrong, hollow, too quick. »Of course you do.«  
With his back still turned to Arthur and stacking dishes up in an obvious attempt to stall for time, Arthur realized that Eames wasn’t going to mention shit. He was apparently set on just brushing over it. Right.

Arthur sat down on the couch and only when he was seated did he look up at Eames again. Eames, who’d turned around at the sound of his couch creaking and was watching him sharply, almost wearily, with those bluey-green eyes deliberately widened in innocence. It was a perfect mask, Arthur had to admit, Eames looked just the right kind of ruffled for it not to be too sleek, and his acting was impeccable. But Arthur knew what he’d seen today, and he also knew when people tried to evade him.  
»So«, he said and not even another gulp of his warm, perfect cup of coffee managed to unfurl the ball of ice resting heavily in his gut. »Are you going to tell me about your friends, or what?«  
This time he could see Eames blanching.

To his credit, Eames’ expression didn’t reveal anything, instead it morphed into that exact same confusion from before again. It was all the confirmation Arthur needed … well, not needed, but it did reassure him that he wasn’t reading this all wrong. It didn’t relieve him in any way, though. »Friends?«  
»Don’t play stupid, Eames, it doesn’t suit you«, Arthur replied dryly, already at the end of his patience. He had stated his question clear enough, hadn’t he? Eames had a whole variety of outs from Arthur’s question (including the truth, of course), and apparently Eames chose to act stupid of all things. Arthur didn’t feel like playing about, not right now, not with this queasy feeling that had been sitting in his stomach since this morning, not with the way he felt like it was all spinning out of control.  
There was a muscle twitching at Eames’ jaw and Arthur hated himself for thinking about licking it right now. »I don’t know what you mean.«

»I saw you«, Arthur said impatiently. »I saw you today, okay? And I know you saw me, too. So, what are you trying to do here, exactly?«  
»Didn’t hear no question about you seeing me«, Eames retorted, his lips pressed tight, mask crumbling but he was still holding on.  
»Oh for fuck sake, I’m confused here! Those guys I saw you with, were they your friends? Were they … I don’t know, why won’t you tell me about them?« Arthur couldn’t help the frown he felt deepening on his forehead with each word. His mug was empty and he sat it on the table next to the ashtray.  
»What, you wanna hear about every acquaintance that I make?«, Eames sneered and crossed his arms, glowering back at Arthur when he just shrugged. His accent got stronger with each clipped word. »And what if they are? What if they are my friends, what then, Arthur? You gonna tell me you can’t hang with them, cause they’re not posh enough?«  
»No, you asshole, I wanna know why I’ve never heard one word from you about them!«, Arthur snapped back and stood again. »I don’t care who your friends are, but I sucked your dick last week and I want to know why I apparently know _nothing_ at all about you. Those friends of yours, that you never talk about, or your family, who – «  
»I told you lots about my sister«, Eames grit out, arms still crossed and Arthur just couldn’t figure out why he’d gotten so defensive. It hadn’t been a that out of the line question, had it?

»I know she lives in New York, that’s about it«, Arthur snorted. »I don’t even know her name, or if she’s older or younger than you. You call that ‘lots’?«  
That muscle in Eames’ jaw twitched again. »She’s all the family I have. Nothing more to tell.«  
Arthur wanted to pull his own hair out with frustration. How did he get here? A minute ago all he’d wanted to do was push Eames up against his kitchen counter and mess his hair up even more, maybe check if he tasted like smoke as he suspected. Now he just wanted to shake Eames and tell him to stop being so pig headed, it wasn’t like his questions were anything out of the ordinary for people who knew each other as long as they had.  
»And your friends, then? You didn’t tell me you even had friends apart from Yusuf. You didn’t tell me much of anything, really. Are they even your friends?« Eames hadn’t answered that one and if he’d thought Arthur hadn’t noticed, he was mistaken.  
»Why, cause they look like thugs?«, Eames’ scowl darkened even further.  
»No, I just want to know … I just want … « Arthur sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. When he spoke again his voice was thankfully calmer, even if there was a bit of a pleading undertone to it. »Why are we even fighting about this? It was just a question. You never tell me anything about yourself and I just … why, Eames? It’s fine if you don’t want to talk about some stuff, but at least tell me why. I’m not – you can … « _Trust me?_ Was that what he was going to say? Arthur didn’t even know.

Eames’ lips were almost white by now, but the rest of his face was flushed in anger. »Cause it’s none of your bloody business, that’s why. Guess I should’ve known you’d act the clingy, possessive bitch any time now, shouldn’t I? Now that you’ve had, as you put so nicely, ‘my dick in your mouth’ you think you got the right to each and every damn part of me.«  
»None of my bloody – right.« Arthur’s throat made an embarrassingly loud clicking sound when he swallowed and he had to look away, just look at something else than Eames’ face. The words felt like a slap in his face. His ears were ringing.

»I just … can we just, like, not talk about it?«, Eames said and shrugged almost helplessly when Arthur’s eyes snapped back to him. »It’s … I don’t … it’s not really necessary, is it?«  
Arthur’s fingernails dug deep into his palms, but that was the only thing he allowed himself. He kept his face carefully blank as he stalked towards Eames until he was close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body. Eames’ cheeks were still flushed and his lips looked plusher and redder than ever now that he wasn’t pressing them into a thin line anymore, his look defiantly fixed on Arthur’s face. For all the heat Eames seemed to emanate in his anger, Arthur had always felt his own anger as something cool, like a blanket of ice encapsulating Arthur’s every last emotion until he felt as cold on the inside as he looked from the outside. »You’re right. I had your dick down my throat. To me, it actually is kind of necessary to know more than fucking _nothing_ about you, yes.«

Eames didn’t reply and Arthur didn’t expect him to. He spun around on his heels and walked out of Eames’ flat as calm and collected as possible. Eames didn’t call him back and Arthur wouldn’t have listened anyway.  
This time around when he came home, Robert did notice something was off, but after Arthur dismissed all of his questions Robert resigned and let Arthur brood in silence. It was already pitch black outside and Robert was getting ready for bed, when Arthur’s phone started ringing. One glance at its display had Arthur sighing and he accepted the call.  
»Hiya, little brother, how’re you doing?«  
»Dean«, Arthur said and smile stole its way onto his face despite his dark mood.  
»I miss you too, brat«, Dean laughed. »So, what’s up in your fancy little university life, huh?«  
Robert slipped discreetly out of the room.

 

\- **Eames** -

Seeing his sister again was always something Eames looked forward to for months, even though he would bite his own tongue off before he ever admitted that to her. Daisy had been there for him from day one and no matter how patronizing and bitchy she could get, Eames knew he’d never have made it without her.  
When she embraced him at the airport In New York, she smelled like home and Eames almost crushed her as he held onto her, Arthur’s words still echoing in his mind. Daisy didn’t mind, though, only told him once again that he wasn’t visiting her often enough and how she felt abandoned by him.

»I’m flying out here from bloody Chicago and all I get is the lumpy sofa?«, Eames whined when he dropped his bags in her flat. She rolled her eyes at him and pulled his hair when she walked by, both of them aware of what he was actually saying. _Thanks for letting me stay here_.  
»You’re a slag. I don’t want you ruining my bed, who knows what you will do in it«, she replied as she kicked off her shoes. _I love you. I missed you._  
»I wouldn’t be doing anything I didn’t do a thousand times already back home«, he teased with his sleaziest grin. _It’s not the same without you._  
Daisy mimicked vomiting into her own hand. _I know. I wish you would stay with me._  
»At least you never caught me, now that would’ve been awkward«, Eames grinned. _I can’t stay. I don’t want you to grow tired of me like. Everyone does._  
Daisy threw her shoe at him and it hurt, and it felt like home and warmth and belonging.

They went out to a fancy restaurant Daisy told him she loved, and she told him all about what had happened since her last email. They emailed each other on a semi-regular basis, with her emails always pages long and very elaborate while Eames preferred to write in a sort of stream-of-consciousness-style, that drove Daisy mad because he apparently ‘abused every punctuation rule there was’ and his spelling was ‘still beyond tolerable’.  
Daisy worked as a photographer for some up and coming graphic design studio and apparently she got paid enough to afford a flat all on her own in New York City, which was impressive if all Eames had heard about the prices here was true. She liked her job well enough, had always preferred working on a computer to working with her hands like Eames did. His liking for art and anything creative he’d probably gotten from her, since he couldn’t even count the times he’d sat and watched her draw, build, improve.

»So, what’s gotten your panties in a twist this time, huh?«, Daisy finally said when desert arrived and watched him closely over her huge portion of ice cream. »You’ve been scowling when you landed and anytime I leave you to your own thoughts, you pull a face as though someone spit into your tea. What’s the matter, my little baby-bro?«  
Eames grimaced at that mental image before shooting her a glare.  
»Don’t you think I’d have told you, if I’d wanted to tell you?«, he said and dug into his own banana split. It was tiny, but at least it tasted good.  
Daisy shrugged, her cheeks stuffed with ice cream. »Not really, no. You’ve never told me anything important on your own accord before, I’ve always had to ask.«  
»It’s called ‘bullying’«, Eames mumbled darkly and she laughed so hard, she almost choked on her ice cream.

Daisy had always known how to pester Eames into spilling whatever he was dead set on _not_ telling her about and no matter how much he whined about it, he couldn’t deny how much better he always felt after telling her.  
The reality was, though, Eames didn’t have a thing of keeping stuff to himself. Quite the opposite actually, people said he was mostly oversharing, if anything. What Eames did do, however, was working things out on his own. He had serious issues about asking people for help, and hadn’t in years. He was aware of this, of course, but he didn’t think it was a particularly bad trait. Being able to handle life on his own was a good thing, it meant he didn’t bother anyone with stuff they didn’t care about in the first place.  
Daisy argued that he wasn’t ‘handling’ anything, he was just burying his problems, but that wasn’t true. Some Problems just couldn’t be solved, that was all.

»So?«, she asked when he had finished his banana split and he shoved the plate away with a huff.  
»Will you stop pestering me for the rest of my stay, if I tell you?«  
»Probably«, she shrugged and rested her chin on her hands, eager for him to start.  
Eames slumped back into his chair huffing, and scowled at the pristine white tablecloth. »There’s … well, there’s this guy, right … he’s not really ‘a guy’, he’s more … he’s Arthur, right? And he, we had a thing, and he’s really complicated and stuck up about pretty much everything, and basically a cold-blooded bastard. ‘Cept for how he really isn’t, he’s just pretending and I can see it, Dais, it’s clear as day.« At this point he was rubbing the tablecloth between his thumb and forefinger and frowned at an imaginary spot, unable to look at his sisters face. »In short, we have… had this thing and it was great and all cool, really. Until he decided to start asking stupid questions. And he’s got no right to ask about that sort of stuff, he doesn’t need to know, does he? He’s just being childish and wants romantic shit ‘n all.«  
There was a pause. »What questions?«, Daisy asked.  
He shrugged and chanced a glance at her face. She was looking at him intently.

»Y’know, stuff about my friends, like who I’m hanging with outside of uni«, he said, still frowning but looking at her this time. »It’s none of his business, is it? It was only a one off, anyway. They’d called and kept annoying me until I agreed to meet up. Bastards.«  
»Was it the friends-part he wanted to know about, that ticked you off, or the family-part?«, Daisy asked, eyebrows lifted and looking at him with that stern look she used to give him whenever he’d been wrong about something and wouldn’t admit it.  
»There’s no family of mine«, he grit out, his fingers curling to a fist around the fine material of the table cloth. »Nothing to talk about there. I told him about you before, anyway, his drama is absolutely ridiculous.«  
»Ah«, she nodded slowly, understandingly. »So it wasn’t that kind of relationship in the first place.«  
Eames nodded wearily, waiting for the other shoe to drop.  
»You didn’t ask about his family, either.«  
There it was. Eames felt his jaw set stubbornly and he narrowed his eyes at Daisy. »Fuck you.«

»I’m just trying to help you«, she insisted, following him outside after they’d paid. He snorted. »Well, more like I’m trying to make you see his side of things. Trying to help you see. I mean, what does he really know about you, Eames? Probably nothing more than what you let him believe and half of that’s only lies, anyway. Am I right?«  
»There’s nothing else, that’s important«, he shot back stalking into the direction of her flat, but she followed suit.  
When they arrived at her flat and he shoved his jacked angrily off his shoulders she laid one hand gently on his bicep and he halted in his movements, not looking at her but listening. »Eames. I know … I know, the thing with mom was … she was … «  
»Nothing«, he replied harshly and shrugged her hand off. »That woman … she’s no mother of mine.«

 

Their mother didn’t come up for the rest of his stay and Eames was glad. She had no right to overshadow the rest of his life and he refused to let her. Daisy went with him all around town, they visited at least three different museums and Eames nicked the ID of the guy who asked her out, even though Eames was standing right there. Only because he was the younger brother didn’t mean he’d let his precious sister go out with slimy idiots who introduced themselves as ‘Mr Charles’.  
They were sitting at the airport, waiting for the call for boarding of Eames’ flight, each a coffee in a brown paper cup sitting on the round table in front of them, when Daisy brought up Arthur again.  
»I know, I haven’t met him yet, but I’d like to someday meet the guy who manages to infuriate you with so little effort«, she said, her lips curved into a small smile. Eames tried to scowl but it turned into more of a pout when she reached out over the table to play with his fingers. »He sounds like quite the character, pretty logical, eh? Doesn’t really fit with your chaos of a brain.«  
Eames couldn’t help the amused snort. »Yeah, logical. That’s Arthur.« He turned his hand around so her slimmer fingers landed in his palm. He never realized how much he’d missed her until it was time to say goodbye at the airport again.  
»Logical«, she repeated and watched him unsuccessfully repress a grin. »So … if he’s that strictly logical, don’t you think he might have a point? Don’t you think he maybe just wants to know you? Wants to learn more about you?«  
»He can know me without ever having to hear her fucking name«, he growled and tugged on her fingers, serious now. »She’s nothing to me, Dais. Everything that I am today I did on my own, I owe her nothing. I _mean_ that.«

She swallowed thickly, but her eyes stayed dry, thank god. He hated seeing her cry. »I know«, she murmured and squeezed his hand. »Just … try and be a bit logical, like Arthur, okay? Give the guy a fair chance.«  
»He doesn’t need no chance.« Arthur didn’t want a chance. Eames didn’t want him to.  
»Eames«, she tugged on him again when he rose. »Please.«  
Daisy had the same mouth as Eames, so he knew how effective that pout could be. Her eyes were a warm amber, though, and when she looked up at him with those eyes and said please, he couldn’t deny her anything. »Alright, alright.«  
She didn’t squeal in victory like she did most times she managed to wring a promise from him and she didn’t even hug him either, face split into a wide triumphant grin. Instead her smile was small and private and when she pressed a soft kiss to his stubbly cheek before he went through the gate, Eames felt something clog up his throat.

He slept through the whole flight and woke with a crick in his neck, Daisy’s sofa one of the most uncomfortable places he’d ever slept in and the plane-seat not much better. It didn’t do anything to lighten his mood and he fell right into his bed as soon as he arrived home, before ever unpacking, even though it was barely afternoon.  
When he woke the next morning his mind wouldn’t stop working, repeating Daisy’s words over and over and then even his argument with Arthur came back once more. He busied himself with unpacking his duffelbag and putting away the stuff he’d brought with him to Daisy. The whole morning he muttered under his breath, kept mentally explaining to Daisy why this was a really bad idea. In the end he relented, just as he always did with her. He picked up his phone and texted her. **ur a pain in me arse u know that**

Then he opened another conversation.  
**u still in town?**  
Eames was in the middle of shoving his face with potato chips he’d found and noticed were expiring in a few days, when his phone buzzed. Telling himself it was probably just Daisy sending kiss-emojis, he picked his phone up again.  
**I am.**  
It took Eames a moment to get that this was a ‘yes’ put into two fancy words. Shaking his head and fighting his smile as well as the terribly bubbly warmth spreading through him, he texted back.  
**wanna meet up?**  
**Want to talk?**  
Eames scowled at the reply. **where u at?**  
**I’m coming over now.** Eames blinked in surprise and before he could reply there was another message coming in. **You better be there.**  
Eames sent Arthur the poop-emoji.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Say hi on tumblr! http://dont-kill-my-darling.tumblr.com/
> 
> Disclaimer: Inception and its characters aren't mine


	12. There's something tragic about you (don't you agree?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter is unbeta-ed, obviously, but if you find any mistakes you want to point out, feel free to do so :)
> 
> Hope you like the new chapter (more plot movement, yay!) and thanks so much for commenting, they really do make me write faster (and hopefully better)!!
> 
> Chapter title: From Eden - Hozier

\- **Eames** -

Arthur didn’t reply. He arrived about twenty minutes later but Eames’ phone told him Arthur had seen his message. When he opened the door, Arthur’s brow was lightly furrowed and Eames could swear he could make out something like puzzlement in those dark chocolate eyes.  
Arthur didn’t smile so Eames didn’t either, just stepped back to invite him in. To Eames’ surprise Arthur was wearing cut-off sweatpants and a t-shirt in place of his usual shirt-and-tie-outfit. Granted, those sweatpants looked like they’d been tailored for Arthur, hugging his hips in all the right places without being too tight, but it was still faded grey sweatpants. And a t-shirt. A plain black t-shirt that had a tiny die stitched right above the hem on his left side, also in black, barely visible. Arthur hadn’t bothered with a jacket, the summer balancing out the constant wind that howled through the city, but the best part was Arthur’s hair: it was soft and loose, fluffy curls framing his forehead and tumbling dark over his temples, only the tips of his ears visible. Because of how short it was at his nape, it still showed off the arch of his neck, his creamy skin in stark contrast to his shirt and hair, and Eames wanted to lick and bite him right there until the skin was flushed red.  
When Arthur went past him Eames could smell salty sweat on him and noticed how the t-shirt bore a dark patch down the back. Had Arthur come over right after working out? Or had he interrupted his work-out-session to come here?

»Right. So.« Arthur said, his dark eyes fixed on Eames for a long moment. Then he started pacing. Eames noticed he was wearing tennis shoes. »I’m still pissed at you, just so we’re clear. You don’t get to say shit like that to me, I’m not having it and you can go to hell as far as I’m concerned.«  
Eames crossed his arms and leaned back against the backrest of his sofa to watch Arthur pace from left to right and back again through his living room. He was caught between wanting to glare at Arthur and trying not to grin, Arthur’s brain had obviously been working furiously and it looked like he had a whole speech planned out, which was equal parts adorable and annoying.  
»So, why’re you here then exactly?«, he interrupted Arthur before he could go on. »If I can go to hell, what are you doing here?«  
Arthur scowled at him but kept up his pacing. »Because I believe I was out of line, too. Not with the questions, per se, I’m just saying I might have overreacted to your, uh, reluctance to answer.«

Eames snorted. »Ya think?«  
»Shut up«, Arthur snapped, still pacing, and pointed a finger threateningly at Eames even while moving. »You’ve got no basis on which to take the higher ground here, none at all. You’ve been childish and an asshole and completely irrational about this whole ordeal, and I might have apologized but you’re not off the hook. Now are you actually gonna tell me what the hell your deal is?«  
Eames felt his jaw set. »No.«  
There was a muscle visibly twitching in Arthur’s cheek as he stared Eames down hard. After a moment he breathed out harshly through his nose. »Okay.« Arthur stopped his pacing, crossed his arms in front of his chest and nodded towards Eames’ closed bedroom door. »Go get ready, I need to punch you in the face.«  
»Excuse me?« Eames blinked.  
»You heard me. Go on.«

Miraculously Eames found himself complying and pulling off his shirt and pants only seconds later. He hadn’t bothered to close his bedroom door behind him when he entered and he could hear Arthur huffing from the other room, his gaze hot and heavy on Eames’ bare back. Well, that was just his own fault, Eames wasn’t forcing Arthur to eye him up – but he was very welcome to, of course. 

When he came back into the living room Arthur hadn’t moved, just watched him approach, his face unreadable but his eyes were liquid heat. He nodded to Eames’ naked feet as soon as Eames reached him. »Shoes.«  
Eames fought an eye-roll and went to put on sneakers. Arthur didn’t seem happy but he didn’t protest, just watched Eames move in silence and didn’t even pretend to not have stared at his arse and/or shoulders when Eames turned back around. And, holy shit, if that wasn’t sending thrills through Eames’ nerve endings, Arthur not bothering to hide how attracted he was to Eames, beautiful even in his cold fury. His hands itched to reach out, cup Arthur’s face and bite his pretty nose proudly. And then he remembered why he couldn’t do just that.

»Something else I can do for you?«, Eames asked, maybe a bit too cocky. »Want me to help you with that stick you seem to have up your arse?«  
Arthur didn’t growl but he did show his teeth and his eyes seemed even darker now. »Gym.«  
Eames just followed after Arthur as he stomped out of the flat, down the stairs and in the direction of the sports centre. When he started whistling only halfway there, he only got an impatient sideways glance from Arthur and a quickening of steps.

The sports centre was pretty much empty when they entered and Eames was opening his mouth to ask if Arthur knew where they stored the mats when he heard shoes squeaking on the floor. In the last moment Eames managed to get his forearm up far enough to catch Arthur’s hard kick aimed at the soft space between ribs and hip. That would have been be a spectacular bruise. Eames couldn’t supress the hiss that escaped him at the contact.  
He didn’t have time to pull himself together and coordinate his body into a counterattack, though. Arthur’s fist was already coming at him, this time aimed at his temple. It took Eames a confused moment to realize Arthur trusted him to block the hit. He ducked and turned so it was his shoulder Arthur’s fist collided with and not his face.

»Whoa, what – «, Eames panted and had to jump back when Arthur’s knobby knee came up, but Arthur closed the distance with the next step. » – the hell?«  
Arthur’s fist were raining hits on Eames now, coming in quick succession at Eames’ arms held up in defense. With each hit Arthur pressed out a word vibrating with aggression and frustration. »You. Are. The. Greatest. Fucking. Bastard. Ever.«  
»Nothing I haven’t heard before, darling«, Eames groaned when Arthur landed an unsuspected kick on his thigh. »Ow. _Ow_.«  
»Fuck you«, Arthur growled back. His fists were still unable to hit anything other than Eames’ (bruised) defensive forearms, but his knee came up again now.

Arthur was sweating and panting, his hair sticking to his temples and his face flushed pink. He had obviously been at least mostly done with his workout when he went to see Eames, if he was this out of breath already. Eames didn’t have a chance to pursue that thought any further, because the next moment, there was a hit on the hinge of his jaw and black splotches exploded behind his eyes. With a groan he let himself fall forward and grabbed Arthur’s foot rushing towards his inner thigh. His teeth still rattling he pulled hard and Arthur lost his balance and landed on his back, his foot secured in Eames’ hands.  
Arthur snarled at him but Eames let go of the foot quickly and pinned Arthur’s thighs to the floor with his knees. »Sorry.« He managed to catch one wrist but the other hand slapped him right in the face before he caught it. Eames pressed them both to the floor next to Arthur’s face, struggling to keep him down. »Sorry.«  
»For what?«, Arthur asked finally and scowled defiantly up into Eames’ face. He couldn’t move one inch, only flex his muscles and strain against Eames’ hold. He didn’t exactly trust Arthur to not start punching him again, but still he let go of Arthur’s wrists and sat back on his haunches, still pinning down his thighs.  
»Being a giant arse«, Eames mumbled and wiped his sweaty face with the hem of his shirt. When he had wiped the sweat from his eyes Arthur’s gaze had lost some of its cool fury and gained a bit of the heat from before. »For calling you clingy. And a bitch.«  
Arthur’s pale throat worked visibly when he swallowed, still scowling, his voice bitter when he spoke. »Why the sudden change of mind? I thought this bullshit was all ‘none of my business’.«

Eames puffed out a long breath and climbed off Arthur’s lap. He stretched out on his back on the floor next to Arthur, conscious of the dark eyes following his movement. The ceiling was row after row of grey pallets with lamps screwed into them, the kind of lamps that made you feel a bit sick and a bit blind when you accidentally looked into them.  
»I’m not a flawless person, you know, I do realize if I am being a douchebag«, Eames said to the too-bright lights. »Also – Dais might’ve talked some sense into me…«  
Clothes rustled next to him and he could see Arthur resting his weight on one elbow and turning towards him, out of the corner of his eye. »Your sister?«  
»Yup.« Eames nodded, still not looking. »Daisy. That’s her.«  
There was a pause and Eames could practically feel the tension vibrating through his body. Then: »Lives in NYC, right?«  
Eames blew out a breath and pursed his lips, squinting up at the lamp right above him. Damn, he wanted a cigarette. »Shittiest flat ever, she’s got, but so damn proud of it like you wouldn’t believe.«  
Arthur laughed lightly and Eames dared to glance at him. His eyes were all crinkled up, perfect white-pearly teeth visible behind his cupid lips, dimples pressing into the cream of his cheeks. »Thinking about the living prices in New York, I’d be proud as hell, too.«

Eames felt his lips twitch in response. He nodded and smiled up at the lights again. Silence settled back over them and Arthur laid back down once more. For a few minutes they just looked up at the ceiling and Eames found himself wishing it were the stars they were looking at, instead of those shitty lamps glaring cold and bright down at them, like the stupid sap that he was. Telling himself to stop didn’t really help.

»When we came over here from England, my … we used to live in quite the nasty part of town, Dais and me«, he heard himself saying finally. »I started pick-pocketing when I was about fourteen, was pretty good, too. And there was this … like, not really a gangster boss but, kind of on his way there, yeah? Name’s Cobol and he, well, he kinda found me. Liked me and took me in. I followed him around like a lost puppy back then.«  
»That’s where you knew those guys from«, Arthur said and it wasn’t quite a question, more of a guess but Eames didn’t deny it. »What happened? How’d you get out of there?«  
This time there was a question behind the words: _Are you actually out?_.  
»I got better and better«, Eames told Arthur, completely focused on a dark brown spot next to one of the lamps. »And we went bigger and bigger with the stuff. Cars first, then art and so on. When I was eighteen and Cobol found out I … swung both ways, so to speak, I was terrified. Thought he’d have me killed and Daisy hurt – but he didn’t. Oh no, he was the big, tolerant saviour. He just told me to ‘make use’ of it.«

Arthur didn’t say anything this time, Eames wasn’t even sure he could hear him breathing. It hadn’t been that bad, at least not as bad as Daisy used to make out. »Two years later I was usually the one to distract and get information out of people, so Cobol’s people could rob a bank or – well, you can imagine what sort of things they used to do. You’d be surprised how many allegedly straight men enjoy a good grope.« Eames snorted through his nose and shook his head. Those stupid guys, quite a few of them had had a gay-crisis right then and there, needing Eames to comfort them. Eames … who’d been nineteen or twenty at the time. »I didn’t, like, sleep with them or anything and Cobol never told me to. But … there was this one time when the guy was a little more keen than I’d anticipated and I got knocked around a bit. Well, and Daisy drew the line there. She told me to either get out of Cobol’s ‘swamp of bullshit’ or never see her again.« With tears shining wetly on her cheeks she’d sown him back together, Eames high as a kite from the painkillers they’d had in their flat. Daisy had begged and begged him to go to college, or get ‘a real, legal job’ for years, but this time she’d shown him the contract for her work in New York. A contract she’d signed and held out of his reach when he tried to take it away from her, tried to make her stay. She’d put it in an envelope right in front of him and then left to send it, in the middle of the night, and Eames had been too out of it to even sit up properly. »It worked. I got out, never went back. But sometimes a few of Cobol’s guys check up on me, so to speak. I think he believes I’ll come back to him with the right incentive. Until I’m done with Uni I’ll let him believe that as much as he wants, I don’t care. I’m not gonna be here for longer than another year or so anyway.«

Arthur was breathing gently next to Eames but it sounded like thunder ringing in his ears as he waited for the follow-up questions. He could practically hear the wheels turning and clicking in Arthur’s head as one question after another popped up. Eames couldn’t really blame Arthur, he hadn’t been very specific about any of this. It was just a small part amidst a whole bigger story; a story Eames wasn’t ready to tell, yet, and so he braced himself for all the questions he couldn’t answer and would result in Arthur being mad at him again.  
But Arthur just kept breathing, didn’t say a word until Eames heard his clothes rustling. And then he was straddling Eames’ lap, the warm weight of his bum settling in the cradle of Eames hipbones. Idle fingers plucked Eames’ shirt out from where it’d been tucked between Arthur’s thighs and Eames’ stomach, and when Eames looked at Arthur’s face he was wholly focused on rubbing the old fabric between his fingertips. His dark eyes were aimed down, lashes creating unnaturally long shadows on his sharp cheekbones and even from this position Eames could see the elegant arch of Arthur’s neck.

»How did you get the accent?«, was what finally came out of Arthur’s mouth. His fingertips were grazing Eames’ clammy stomach and tickling through the coarse hair beneath his belly button, making it very hard to focus on his words.  
»What do you mean?«  
Arthur shrugged, still not looking up but with a small, dimple-lacking smile. »Well, if you’d grown up here you wouldn’t have the accent, would you? So … how did you get the accent?«  
»I didn’t grow up here«, Eames responded and did his best to make it sound much more grand than it actually was. »Until I was twelve I lived in the UK with my grandparents. They had this tiny South-London flat, where Dais and me had to share a room and it was so cramped all the time, especially as we grew up. They had this garden, though, with all this muddy grass and Granny would try to grow flowers in it each year. I can’t remember how many times I fell over in that garden – I was a particularly clumsy toddler, I’m told – and came back in with muddy knees and hands.« Granny had always scolded him for soiling the house while simultaneously baking cookies to let him nick some dough and stop crying.

»Oh«, Arthur said and this time he met Eames’ eyes, surprise evident in his vice. His fingers stopped moving on the hem of Eames’ shirt. »You lived with your grandparents?«  
Eames cleared his throat. »Yeah.«  
Arthur nodded and shifted on top of Eames, but that just served to confuse Eames’ body – the mood wasn’t really fitting but someone sitting this close to Eames’ dick usually meant some action.

»When I was fifteen my mother married my step-father and he came with a step-brother«, Arthur blurted into the uncomfortable silence starting to engulf them. »His name’s Rich, well, Richard actually, and he’s alright. But, you see, he used to tell me how important a father figure in the life of a young boy was and I always thought he knew I liked guys and was trying to get me ‘on the right path’ again, so to speak.« Arthur stopped his babbling shortly to fidget even more with Eames’ shirt and frowned down at it, as though it had personally offended him.  
He looked up when Eames wrapped his fingers around Arthur’s wrists. »And now?«  
It took Arthur a moment to answer, then he shook his head with a weird half-smile. »Nothing. I never asked him about it and he never elaborated what he meant exactly. I moved out last year and I haven’t really been home since.«  
Eames couldn’t help the frown he felt appearing on his face.

That didn’t sound right. Like Arthur was afraid of what his stepfather might think of him, only based on the fact that he liked guys instead of girls. Eames hadn’t even met the man, but he decided he didn’t like Rich, not if he made Arthur feel this unsure about himself.  
»Dean’s cool, though«, Arthur continued and his tone lost some of the strained indifference. He let go of Eames’ shirt and turned his hands around so he could hold Eames’ wrists the same way Eames held his. The smile he directed down at their hands was genuine and Eames could even spot a dimple pressed into his left cheek this time. »He’s a bit older than me, but he’s fun and outrageously carefree. I’m surprised he hasn’t managed to kill himself until now. Especially since he’s in Europe and doesn’t know any other language than English. By probability alone he should have gotten robbed at least twice by now. But no, not Dean. Dean has made about a hundred new friends just by getting into stranger’s cars all over Europe.«  
Eames smiled and squeezed Arthur’s wrists lightly. »Sounds like my kind of person.«

Arthur looked up and started outright laughing. The laughter was making him rock in Eames’ lap and it was the most beautiful sound Eames had heard in a long time.  
»The two of you would be my definition of the apocalypse«, Arthur chuckled and freed one hand to press the back of it against his grinning mouth, as if to hide it.  
»Now I _really_ want to meet him«, Eames replied and slid his hands down from Arthur’s wrists to rest them on his thighs. Arthur’s eyes seemed to get brighter, the almost-black turning into a sort of dark honey-gold when Eames pressed his fingers lightly into the muscle beneath his palms.  
»Speaking of … «, Arthur cleared his throat and suddenly there was the uncertainty from before again. Eames froze. »My, uh, my mother asked if you, ah, if you’d care to visit New Mexico during the vacation. Y’know. With me.«  
»The – I – what?«  
»Rob is going to shout at you next time he sees you, just a little warning«, Arthur quickly interrupted Eames’ useless stuttering.

»Pardon?«  
»Well, she put it in her head to invite you and Rob promised to basically bully me into actually asking you about it«, Arthur shrugged suspiciously nonchalant. »You can just say no, though, don’t worry. It’s just the asking part, she made me promise. She didn’t tell me to kidnap you and force you to come, so … «  
Eames needed a minute to wrap his head around the fact that apparently not only had Arthur told his mother (his _mother!_ ) about him, no he had apparently told her enough about him, that she wanted to meet him. Eames had never done the meeting-the-parents thing. Not with anyone, not so far. It was going to be a disaster, Eames knew right away. They would definitely hate him. His mouth, however, didn’t seem to get the memo. »Well … yeah? I mean … if you want me to.«  
There was a distinct redness creeping up Arthur’s neck. »Only if you want to. I’m not forcing you, if you don’t want to go. My mother is the one who’s good at forcing things to go her way – I wasn’t even going to ask you, frankly, but … «  
Oh. Well. That wasn’t really surprising, Eames supposed, even though it made something bitter curl in his stomach. »But now we’re good again?«

Arthur’s eyebrows lifted and he pursed his lips. »I’m not sure yet. You have apologized, at least, so that’s something I guess … «  
»You need more convincing?« Eames decided to take that as a challenge and sat up, so his lips were only inches away from Arthur’s mouth.  
Arthur was still sporting his most unimpressed expression and didn’t lean back, but now Eames could feel Arthur’s warm breath brush over his face, and it went slightly quicker than normal. With a grin he dug his fingers teasingly into Arthur’s thighs and leant forward to bite Arthur’s chin teasingly.  
»Hey!«, Arthur protested weakly and slapped Eames’ shoulder, but still didn’t lean away which Eames took as a sign of encouragement.  
He rubbed his own stubbly chin over the sore spot and let their noses bump together, not quite kissing but almost. »Convinced yet?«  
Arthur shook his head, although his breath was quickening. »No, not by far. Are you accepting the invitation, or not?«  
»I – what? You just said you weren’t even going to ask me; why would I accept if you clearly don’t want me to?«, Eames asked confused. The words were tumbling out maybe a tad too quick, like he wasn’t sure he actually wanted to say them and they just pressed out all the faster so he wouldn’t be able to take them back. 

Arthur frowned lightly and tilted his head to the side, his hands cupping the back of Eames’ head when he tried to lean back. »That’s not what I said. I wasn’t going to ask you, because you were being a dick. Are you being a dick right now?«  
»I… I don’t know«, Eames replied at a loss. Arthur’s hands at the back of his head were carding through his hair and his touch was warm and soft and firm. God, this all was distracting and confusing and Arthur’s warm weight on his thighs didn’t help either.  
Arthur rolled his eyes and Eames immediately felt he had just said something incredibly stupid. »Would you like to come with me to New Mexico for roughly two weeks?«  
Eames opened and closed his mouth several times before answering: »Yeah?« Arthur lifted one critical eyebrow at Eames’ uncertain tone and he hastened to add: »Sure. Yes. Okay.«  
»Alright then«, Arthur nodded, his eyes crinkling up a bit due to the smile his mouth was totally not giving away. 

Eames could actually feel his own chin moving with Arthur’s nodding, as though he couldn’t help himself and just mirrored whatever Arthur did.  
Arthur leaned forward to rest his forehead against Eames’ and held his gaze, the depth of his chocolate-dark eyes all earnest and serious now. »If you start being a dick again, you’re not getting another chance, you hear me?«  
Eames wanted to say yes so badly, he had to bite his lip to refrain from mindlessly agreeing to anything coming out of Arthur’s mouth. »Darling … there’s going to be some things I can’t … I don’t want to talk about.«  
Arthur’s jaw set and his grip on the back of Eames’ head tightened. »Then we’ll have to work it out. As long as you don’t lash out at me like that again, we’ll work it out.«  
Eames didn’t feel particularly encouraged by this but Arthur was determined, a dark scowl on his face and his eyes staring Eames down. »We can try, yeah. Won’t hurt, I guess.«  
Arthur was obviously not very satisfied with Eames' lack of conviction, but he didn’t say anything, just nodded decisively and pulled Eames in. It wasn’t particularly soft or gentle, more of a bite than a kiss really, when Arthur connected their lips. Eames could feel the burning anger, the hurt pride in the way Arthur’s teeth closed around his bottom lip, and he couldn’t really blame him. 

He knew he’d overreacted when he started calling Arthur names and all that, but he hadn’t really been in control of himself. Somehow everything felt far more intense with Arthur, frighteningly intense sometimes. What he’d realized, though, was that he wasn’t ready (or able) to push Arthur away like this. He was probably hurting himself more by doing that, than he was hurting Arthur, and he didn’t actually want to do either. He’d just wanted the topic of that woman dropped, preferably forever, and pushing Arthur away had seemed like a good strategy at the time. Not now, of course, not with Arthur straddling his lap and kissing him like he still wanted to punch Eames in the face but had decided biting was just as good.  
Before Eames could decide if he should give back as good as he got, or just sit there and take it until Arthur had worked his rage out, Arthur was pulling back with a last sharp nip to his upper lip. He didn’t say anything, they were both busy trying to catch their breath and to grasp what had just happened – at least on Eames’ part. Had they just made up? Did they just have their first row? Was that what just happened? 

»Let’s get out of here«, Eames suggested when his head started swirling and the floor became too hard and too cold for him to be comfortable any longer. 

. 

\- **Arthur** -

There was no kind of conversation on their walk back. Eames just silently followed Arthur to his dorm, his bottom lip tugged between his teeth and his hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his joggers. Arthur could still taste Eames on his tongue, coffee mixed with sweetness and fresh mint; could still feel how those pillowy lips had welcomed him, soft and pliant, taking every spiteful bite and lick Arthur had given them.  
It was just starting to get dark but still the heat of the summer-day lingered in the air, making sweat prickle down the back of his neck and down the line of his spine. He couldn’t wait for a cold shower, though, with Eames’ taste on his tongue he couldn’t help but wonder if Eames would like to join him. They could even turn the cold shower into a hot one, if Eames preferred that …  
Arthur had to stop himself there as they were approaching the front door and he wasn’t actually planning on inviting Eames into his shower. He had apologized but Arthur wasn’t usually one to forgive quickly and he didn’t allow himself to do so now, even if it took some extra-effort. 

»So, uhm, when does this visit to New Mexico start?«, Eames asked when they came to a halt.  
Arthur turned around to face him fully. »Upcoming Friday.«  
Eames nodded. »And … do we drive?«  
Arthur snorted at the sheer impracticality of that suggestion. »Yeah, right. Drive through half the country? Who in their right mind would do that?«  
Eames shrugged and mumbled something that sounded vaguely like »road trip«, and Arthur just wanted to see him do that familiar grin again, so he added: »You wouldn’t happen to be afraid of flying, Mr Eames?«  
Eames pouted. »I wouldn’t call it ‘afraid’ – more like ‘making me uncomfortable’.«  
»You really?«, Arthur blinked confused. »But … you literally just flew to visit your sister!«  
Now there was definitely a smile playing around Eames’ ridiculous lips. He threw a fake-shy look up at Arthur through his lashes and shrugged. »Well, I’d still like a roadtrip with you.«  
Arthur couldn’t think of anything to respond to that and so he uselessly opened and closed his mouth, much to Eames’ amusement. 

He turned and started walking towards the door again, when suddenly there was a hand on his arm and he was spun around. Then there was Eames, broad and warm and sweaty, and Arthur’s brain felt close to melting from one moment to another.  
Eames’ eyes were wide and round and greyish-green, his lips reddened and swollen from their abuse, and his movements slow enough for the ‘is this okay?’ to be loud and clear without one word being spoken. Arthur didn’t move, just let Eames’ mouth sink down on him, more careful than ever as far as he could remember. For a few seconds nothing happened then Eames slid his hands up and spread his fingers around Arthur’s jaw and neck, the gentle press of his lips increasing just that bit until Arthur’s eyes fluttered shut when Eames’ tongue flicked in between them.  
Something in the back of Arthur’s mind fluttered in recognition but Arthur couldn’t put his finger on what it could be. 

»You free tomorrow night?«, Eames breathed into the heavy air between them and Arthur had to swallow twice before he trusted his voice.  
»Yeah. Yes. Why? What are we doing?«  
Eames smiled his patented, lopsided smirk and took a step back. »I just realized, I haven’t even taken you on an actual date yet. Whatever should we tell your parents, when they ask us about it? So, I’m going to take you out, all proper and fancy like, yeah?«  
Arthur’s mouth suddenly felt too dry for speech. »A date? To tell my parents about?«  
»Well, that too, but more importantly because I believe I haven’t shown much appreciation of your wonderful person lately and I wish to redeem myself«, Eames smirked and cocked his head to the side, daring Arthur to question him.  
»Lately?«, Arthur all but croaked and Eames put his charmingly crooked teeth on full display.  
»Be ready at seven, darling.«  
And with that Eames vanished into the night, leaving Arthur slightly unsteady on his feet and fumbling with his keys so much, he almost dropped them. It was only when he was lying in bed that he realized what that kiss had reminded him of; Eames hadn't kissed him like that before; it had felt like a first kiss was supposed to feel and, thinking of their first kiss, Arthur had to admit that it maybe really had been due. 

~

»I can’t believe you’re going out with that prick, after he sent you into the sulk of a century«, Robert mumbled from his bed as he watched Arthur try on the fifth suit now. Arthur ignored him. »If I had done anything to make you sulk like that, you would’ve moved into a different room. All he gets is a spanking and a date.«  
»He didn’t – I was out of line, too«, Arthur replied with a sigh and pulled on his jacket. Was this too formal? But he wore suits to uni on a regular basis, if he didn’t wear a suit now, Eames would think he wasn’t making an effort. It depended on the kind of date, though, was Eames taking him to a fancy restaurant? Had he planned some kind of activity? He wasn’t replying to any of Arthur’s texts, maybe this date wasn’t going to happen after all.  
»Were you, though?«  
Arthur frowned and turned around to Robert sitting on his bed with crossed legs and crossed arms, his head leaned back against the wall behind his back, his neck on full display. He was wearing the old t-shirt he was sleeping in, the one with the too wide collar, so Arthur could see each of Robert’s tiny little freckles that were covering him from head to toe. »What do you mean?« 

»I mean, you were only asking questions, right? Everyone has the right to ask questions. Especially if it concerns someone who has expressed a distinct interest in your ass.« Robert scowled disapprovingly at Arthur, and Arthur wasn't sure what exactly he’d done wrong.  
Robert was right, of course, everyone had the right to ask questions and voice doubts and that included Arthur. Arthur had the right to ask questions – thing was though, there were some questions not everyone had the right to an answer to. And Arthur had not had the right to an answer when he'd asked his question.  
That didn’t mean that Arthur was just going to be content with it. He was going to ask his questions again if he needed to, but he also had this stupid, pathetic, unrealistic hope of Eames maybe volunteering up his answers. Even if it was bit by bit. Yesterday in the gym had been way more than Arthur had expected from punching Eames a few times. But then again, his way of getting what he wanted seldom included violence. 

»His _interest_ is not restricted to my ass«, Arthur mumbled instead of giving a real answer and decided that his mauve tie didn’t match his brown suit and dark blue shirt well enough. He pulled it off and grabbed a sleek, ink black one with a glance at the clock that told him, he had about four and a half minutes left.  
»Oh, no, I know«, Robert lamented from his position on the bed and let his upper half slide down the wall to his right. He ended up in an uncomfortable looking position with his body in a right angle, back still pressed to the wall and his head dangling a bit awkwardly to the side where the top of his head touched the surface of the bed. His hair was soft from the shower he took a few hours ago and spilt over the fresh white sheets all feathery and raven-dark. »His interests focus mainly on putting things _in_ said ass – «  
Arthur threw his spare pillow at him before he could utter any more of that horrific sentence. »Fuck you.«  
»I’m pretty sure Eames would prefer you not do that, he seems like the jealous kind to me«, Robert fired back from behind Arthur’s pillow he now had clutched to his chest. 

Before Arthur could dignify that with an answer, there was a knock on the door. It flew open before either of them could react and Arthur could swear Robert even jumped a little.  
_He’s early. Why is he always early?_ , Arthur glared at his alarm clock that smugly showed him, he’d still had two minutes to get ready. »It’s not time yet, Mr Eames«, he said without turning to acknowledge Eames’ presence as he strolled into the room, hands in the pockets of his slacks and beaming like he owned the place.  
»Aw, I was too nervous and waiting down there was making me anxious, so I decided to surprise you«, Eames purred and it was only because Arthur could see his reflection approaching in the mirror, that he didn’t jump when Eames hooked his chin over Arthur’s shoulder. His eyes wandered up and down Arthur’s frame slowly and he let out an appreciating hum that made warmth curl in Arthur’s stomach. His shoulder prickled where Eames’ throat had vibrated against it and Arthur could swear he felt two fingers touching the small of his back lightly. »You’re delicious.« 

»Alright, no«, Robert chimed in from the other side of the room and when Arthur turned, Robert had sat up again and his arms were crossed in front of his chest once more. »That was – once again – too much information. I do not need to know these things and I hereby veto this behaviour in my presence.«  
»What behaviour?«, Eames asked after a short pause into Arthur’s ear, loud enough for Robert to definitely hear. Simultaneously Eames settled his hands on either side of Arthur’s hips, the warmth immediately sinking through the fine layers of clothing and making Arthur’s skin feel suddenly too small, too tight for him.  
»You’re a bastard and I would so punch you, if I had Browning here«, Robert said with an accusatory finger. »I am not going to tell you how pathetically Arthur was sulking because of you, since that would make me a bad friend, but I sincerely hope you know what you’ve done and you feel fucking guilty about it.«  
Arthur just let his head drop forward and close his eyes for a moment, but … well, this wasn’t surprising. He was Robert. Of course he’d say something like this.  
»That’s – brave«, Eames commented slowly and then whispered into Arthur’s ear. »Who or what is a ‘Browning’? That is guard dog?« 

Arthur took a deep breath and stood up straight again. He freed himself from Eames’ grip and slipped his shoes on. »We’re going to leave now.«  
Eames shrugged and dutifully waited outside the still opened door. He was wearing only slightly oversized slacks in khaki and a hideously coloured paisley. His hair was slicked back, sharpening his cheekbones and drawing even more attention to his mouth and eyes, and he was fidgeting, maybe nervous but most likely just itching for a cigarette. He was maddeningly attractive. 

When Arthur closed the door behind him, Robert gave him a small nod and a salute, mouthing: ‘got your back’. Arthur suppressed the fond smile that was trying to force its way out and shut the door, jumping when Robert suddenly shouted: »Your balls are still in danger, asshole!«  
Alright. So Robert was still threatening Eames, which was probably why he hadn't bothered Arthur about asking him about the invite to New Mexico. Well, it was too late now anyway, since Arthur had already asked, even without Robert bullying him into it. Eames grimaced and rolled his eyes. »Yeah, yeah.« 

»So, where are we going?«, Arthur asked when they had made it outside and Eames started leading him off campus.  
»We’re going to work on your imagination«, Eames said cryptically and waved him towards a waiting taxi. Arthur couldn’t quite help the frown when Eames opened the door for him and gestured for him to get in. »C’mon, don’t be shy. I’m told Chicago cabbies are quite well behaved, only one or two per moth try and shoot people.«  
The taxi driver was rolling his eyes dangerously hard into the rearview-mirror and Arthur send him an apologetic smile. »Where are we actually going, Eames?«, he asked as soon as Eames had taken his seat next to him and nodded to the taxi driver, who started the car. Apparently this had been planned, since the driver didn’t even ask for directions and just drove.  
»Don’t you know what a ‘surprise’ is?«, Eames evaded his question and tried a winning smile at Arthur’s deadpan look.  
»I don’t like surprises«, he stated dryly and tried to pay enough attention to where the taxi was going, to guess where they were headed. But it was hard with Eames this close by and even harder when Eames reached out and started idly tracing the fine bones in Arthur’s wrist.  
»Then you’ve obviously never had a good one«, Eames mused and circled Arthur’s wrist loosely with his fingers. His hand looked tanned in contrast to Arthur’s milky-white skin, and not for the first time Arthur’s realized how much broader Eames’ hands were. 

»Eames«, he said and it was supposed to sound impatient and no-bullshit, but came out breathy and too soft and Arthur would be blushing, if he wasn’t so busy with the feeling of Eames’ calloused fingers slotting in between his. Eames had his brow furrowed and was staring at their hands with great interest, as though he was just experimenting. At Arthur’s tone he looked up and the smile that was curling his lips wasn’t smug or charming or cunning, it was just … warm.  
»We’re going to learn about dreams today, my darling Arthur.« 

That was not what Arthur had been expecting. »Uh … how?«  
Eames’ smile widened and only now Arthur realized Eames was shaven clean. He looked all kinds of sharp and dressed up and unusually chic (even with a distinct lack of tie Arthur couldn’t help but notice) and Arthur was unfamiliar with this desire of messing up Eames’ hair and maybe open a button or two. Just to make him look more Eames-y.  
»Don’t worry, it doesn’t involve drugs or anything like that«, Eames assured him, which – well, Arthur hadn’t even thought of that. »It’s an art gallery.«  
Oh. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Say hi on tumblr! http://dont-kill-my-darling.tumblr.com/
> 
> Disclaimer: Inception and its characters aren't mine


	13. Back When I Was Unafraid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am still alive, yes, and I'm also very sorry for the huuuuge pause!  
> I'm still writing, I haven't forgotten and I am absolutely going to finish this fic. rl just sometimes gets in the way and I can only hope there's someone willing to put up with that ...  
> So, here's Eames' full backstory (finally). I'm not entirely happy with it, but I hope you guys like it anyways!
> 
> Thanks for all the kudos and comments, I really appreciate them (and i also reply much more consistenly than I update, ahem)
> 
> Chapter Title: Thief - Imagine Dragons

\- **Eames** -

As unimaginative as Arthur had occasionally proven to be he showed surprisingly great appreciation for art, Eames thought. He hadn’t been entirely sure Arthur would find visiting an art gallery acceptable as a date, his distinctive lack of imagination and never expressed interest in art in general aside. Seeing Arthur’s eyes study one piece after another with that same focus he seemed to apply to everything in his life was enough assurance for Eames to know he’d guessed right.  
The gallery titled ‘Dreams’ was open for another few hours but Eames planned to take Arthur to a restaurant as soon as their hunger started to kick in. Arthur’s eating habits appeared to mostly consist of him forgetting to eat in between studying and scowling which was why Eames felt pretty confident in his assumption Arthur hadn’t eaten before Eames showed up to let himself be shouted at by lovely Robert. Such a sweetheart that guy, honestly. Also, disgustingly pretty.

»How come you’re so interested in art?«, Arthur asked without taking his eyes off the huge canvas they were looking at. It was speckled in grey, only a few white spots remaining. The colour varied from dark grey, almost black, to so light it appeared translucent, and due to the heavy layering of the colour the painting also possessed a relief that threw shadows. The plat at the side named it ‘Limbo’.  
»I try and explore my possibilities when I realize I’m actually good at something«, said Eames watching Arthur.

Arthur fit right into the crowd with his suit in a rich brown and a dark blue shirt underneath. His tie seemed to be catching the light and shimmered silkily with every move Arthur made and Eames’ hands itched to find out if it was as soft-feeling as it looked. Arthur’s hair was slicked back, as per usual, and there was a watch glinting on his right wrist. He fit in perfectly with the rest of these suit-people milling about and clinking their champagne-glasses together, but strangely he also stood out Eames noticed. For one, of course, because Arthur was quite a bit younger than most of them, but with his slicked back hair and suit he appeared kind of ageless to Eames, so that wasn’t it.  
It was the way Arthur held himself, Eames decided after a moment of contemplation. He had the same kind of nonchalant air about him that suit-wearing-people usually had, but Arthur also held himself very consciously. Every gesture he made looked measured, each step weighted and calculated – not in a cold or creepy way, just in a very aware way like Arthur was constantly conscious of each fibre of his being.

Eames had made an effort, too, of course. He wore his most spotless slacks and the button down that had this nice silky feel to it. Surprising to Eames, he appeared to have lost a bit of weight in the last weeks, since the slacks hadn’t felt all that secure on his hips, when he’d put them on this morning. Which was why he’d had to sort through his belts to find one that didn’t look as though a dog had chewed on it for the better part of its life.  
He was aware he didn’t fit in this kind of crowd half as well as Arthur, appearance-wise. Contrary to Arthur he didn’t need to, though. Eames knew perfectly well how people like these spoke, acted, smiled and breathed. The shabbiest appearance could be covered with a smile, so long as it was the right kind of smile, and Eames had been sneaking into crowds he had no business sneaking into for years before he’d ever met Arthur.

»What kind of a non-answer is that?«, Arthur retorted and went on to the next piece: a mosaic of photographs that showed some kind of ‘light at the end of the tunnel’-thing and was titled ‘Stimulus’.  
»Wasn’t a non-answer«, Eames disagreed. »I already told you Cobol used to have me do copies of whatever they were going to steal. I don’t need to repeat all that about those originals being replaced by my forgeries to cover up the theft and all that, do I? This isn’t exactly the right crowd to talk about stealing artwork and copying it.«  
He fluttered his eyelashes conspiringly at Arthur but only received a frown in return. »You never told me that.«  
He hadn’t? »Oh.« Eames shrugged and wandered over to the next piece – ‘Exponentially’, a giant clock whose second hand was ticking extremely slow. »Well, I guess you have heard about it, though, so … «  
»That’s not the same thing«, Arthur muttered and followed Eames. »I don’t believe anything I hear about you anymore, by principle. If I did I would have to believe you’re a super-spy, a hired assassin, a cop, an alien, a genius lunatic, and a murderous vampire, all at once.«  
»Doesn’t that sound like me?«, Eames questioned coyly and threw his most innocent smile in Arthur’s direction.  
»Neurotically in love with yourself«, Arthur deadpanned. » _That_ sounds like you.«  
»So much love in the air tonight«, Eames mused and sighed exaggeratedly.  
That got him an elbow in the side from Arthur.

The next room was titled _A Leap of Faith_ and when they entered, it was all dark with subtly lighted arrows on the floor leading the way. Arthur’s shoulder bumped into Eames twice as they followed the path in the darkness, a few whispers in front of them and behind them the only signs of other people’s presences. This was probably the perfect opportunity to hold Arthur’s hand, Eames thought, but his palms were decidedly too sweaty for that now. Arthur’s palms were probably never sweaty, only warm and dry and firm.  
To Eames’ left there was a cool and even surface, to his right Arthur’s warmth, from which he deduced they were in some kind of walk-in art piece. As they rounded a corner, random shapes started appearing all around them on the walls. First only in white but the further they walked in the more colour the shapes gained, their movements alone disorienting enough and the colour only adding to the feeling of being lost in some sort of strange mosaic of random colours and shapes. Arthur didn’t speak and the murmured voices around them stopped as well, presumably because everyone was too busy trying not to walk into a wall. Eames could hear faint music with some French words strewn in but it was slowed down so far, he couldn’t understand a word.  
Then there was another corner and suddenly they were stood in a bright room with white walls and floor and ceiling. Blinking Eames looked around, finding only three other people other than him and Arthur. On the walls around them, scenes were projected: a lioness mid-jump, her claws almost touching the antelope’s flanks; a man slamming a door behind him, his face contorted in anger; a woman pulling on her dress; a child jumping from a swing; a man dead on the floor, a pool of red around him; a woman and a man, holding hands, lying sideways on rails with a train inches from the impact. It was like they’d been thrown into a scene mid-action without any context or direction, but it was still clear how every scenario was gonna end a few seconds into the future.  
On the ceiling were five words running in circles slow enough for Eames to read the words: _How did we get here?_

»Interesting«, were Arthur’s mumbled words and when Eames turned to face him Arthur’s eyes were scanning the words curiously, then dropped back to the scenes around them. »This is a reference to the way we get dropped into our own dreams without any concept of ever getting to or arriving at that same starting point.« He looked closer at the woman and man on the rails and paused. »You never wonder how you got where you are in dreams. Looking at it from a waking perspective though, you can’t help but wonder what happened for them to end up here.«  
Eames’ eyes wandered to the man dead in a pool of his own blood. »For some of these it seems obvious how it happened, for some there are probabilities, and for some there’s just no clue at all. Doesn’t matter though, does it? In a dream we just take everything as it is.«  
When he looked up Arthur had turned towards him, his dark eyes fixated intently on Eames’ face. He didn’t say anything, didn’t even avert his eyes when Eames returned his look. Arthur just stood there like he was contemplating Eames as a whole, trying to solve him like a particularly hard puzzle.

They wandered around the gallery for more than another hour and Eames found out that Arthur liked art in general – to look at, not to create himself, Arthur made sure to point out – but he liked antique art most. Thinking about it, Eames thought he should’ve guessed that beforehand. Traditional artistic work by artists like DaVinci, Rodin, and Michelangelo of course fascinated Arthur.  
»Back then it had all to do with _skill_ , you know«, Arthur explained on their way to the restaurant Eames had booked a table at. The summer air was warm around them despite the ever present wind that seemed to linger in the city no matter what season. »Not that modern artists don’t need skill, don’t get me wrong. It just seems to me that modern art has much more to do with expressing _feeling_ while back then it was just straight up about skill. Michelangelo painted whatever he was able to paint. He didn’t paint what he felt. Although of course one can see what he felt during the process of painting, since it’s done with so much expertise and dedication, but still. The object of his painting wasn’t whatever emotion he wanted to depict, it was a literal object.«  
Eames didn’t argue, just smiled to himself and wrapped his fingers lightly around Arthur’s wrist to lead him across the street to the restaurant. Arthur threw him a look and blushed lightly. »Sorry for ranting at you. I have … opinions.«  
Eames’s chuckle morphed into laughter in no time. »Oh, I’ve noticed, darling.«

Their table was located on the edge of the patio the restaurant had their tables put up in. It wasn’t overly fancy but it had candles and nice little green flowery things on the table, with heavy silvery rings around real cloth serviettes. Arthur didn’t seem too impressed, Eames thought, until he noticed the dimple pressed into his left cheek, almost completely hidden in the candlelight. He didn’t suppress his proud grin, even though Arthur scoffed when he saw Eames’ expression.  
Eames rolled up his sleeves as they sat down and picked up their menus, the warm air around them too warm to be sitting in a long-sleeved button-up. Thank god he hadn’t brought a jacket. The weather was perfect for this kind of thing, the air although warm not uncomfortably moist and the wind was just the right cooling to beckon people out of their homes and enjoy the summer.

A waitress lit the candle on the table in between them after taking their orders and Eames was almost sure he saw Arthur blush. Eames tilted his head with a lopsided grin and rested his chin on his folded hands, elbows resting on the table comfortably as he enjoyed watching Arthur staring defiantly back.  
»What?«, Arthur asked, sure enough, after not even ten seconds.  
»Have I managed to live up to your expectations, yet?«, Eames responded instead of answering Arthur’s question.  
Arthur’s right eyebrow twitched minutely and he pursed his lips in thought, amusement dancing in his eyes. Eames was sure, if he had been capable of it, he would start purring right about now so pleased was he with himself to have put such an expression in Arthur’s eyes.  
»The night is still going«, Arthur reminded him, the challenge clear in the tilt of his lips. »I cannot judge as long as the date hasn’t been completed.«  
Eames bit back the toothy grin he could feel spreading over his face. »Of course«, he replied pleasantly and hummed, then licked his lower lip, automatically drawing Arthur’s attention to his mouth. »I completely understand. Be sure to keep me updated, though, yes? I would hate to be unaware of any failures of mine.«  
The corners of Arthur’s mouth twitched in amusement and there was definitely a light chuckle making its way up Arthur’s throat.

Then Arthur’s eyes dropped to somewhere below Eames’ face and suddenly his eyebrows knit together unhappily. »What is that?«  
Clueless Eames put his arms down and looked down his upper body but came up unable to find anything out of order. His shirt was buttoned up to the last two buttons, only exposing his throat and the dip between his collarbones. It wasn’t buttoned unevenly or anything and Eames also couldn’t find any stains on the fabric. At a loss, he looked up again, just in time to see Arthur reaching out for his hand. His slender fingers wrapped around Eames’ wrist and lifted it until his elbow was once again resting on the table cloth, his bare underarm facing Arthur once more.  
»You should’ve told me, asshole«, Arthur grumbled and traced Eames’ underarm with his index finger with so little pressure, Eames’ arms and neck erupted in goosebumps. »Fucking hell, why didn’t you say anything?«  
Eames glanced down at his underarm and noticed the purple-blue bruising that littered him almost from wrist to elbow. Oh. Right. He remembered Arthur’s fists raining down on them as he’d tried to block the punches. »Nah, s’not so bad«, he assured Arthur and shook his head, but didn’t pull his arm back. Arthur’s fingers were still slung around his wrist and Eames had no desire to end the contact any time soon. »Really, they look worse than they feel. This tends to happen when you get kicked and punched, you know.«  
Arthur’s frown only deepened. He gave Eames back his arm and leaned back, all mirth from a minute ago gone. Their food arrived before Eames could go on, so he waited until the waitress was out of earshot.

»It’s not so bad, I promise«, he repeated and reached over the table to pull at Arthur’s ring finger playfully. When Arthur looked up at him, still frowning, Eames shrugged. »I bet I gave you a few bruises as well, so don’t look at me like that. I deserved that, and it really doesn’t hurt much. It’s more like a … an inconvenience, if you will.« He poked at his underarm demonstratively. »Pulls a bit. If I don’t think about it, I don’t feel it at all.«  
»What a big bad man you are«, Arthur retorted dryly and started eating his lasagne. His eyes flickered back to Eames’ underarms a few times, but his frown lessened while Eames cut his pizza. After a few bites taken in silence Arthur mumbled: »You’re right, you did deserve that.«  
Eames pouted at him and was relieved to see Arthur shrug and roll his eyes at him. He decided not to inform Arthur about the way his jaw ached a lot more from its acquaintance with Arthur’s fist than his forearms, every time he chewed. That might be counterproductive in this situation.

The rest of the evening they spent talking about the art gallery, Yusuf and Ariadne, and other nonsense that came to (mostly Eames’) mind. Arthur was uncharacteristically open and Eames couldn’t get enough of it. Arthur talked about his stepbrother Dean and how he would’ve loved for Dean to be there when he went back to visit his mom and stepdad Richard. Eames learned that Arthur hadn’t taken Ariadne to meet his family, yet, which made something fuzzy and electric curl in his stomach. He listened to Arthur complain about Eames’ roadtrip-idea but Eames didn’t fail to notice that Arthur did not once speak of not doing it which was basically silent consent.  
Belly filled with Italian food and wine, Eames listened and watched Arthur talk. He paid attention to the way Arthur gestured with his hands a lot – not in any way out of control or in danger to knock over anything on the table, he just expressed the pacing of his words with his hands. Nice hands they were too, slender and fine-boned, his skin even and creamy. Pianist hands, Eames thought. Arthur’s slicked back hair was starting to curl behind his ears and by his temples again, and he had loosened his tie and unbuttoned the first button of his shirt, putting the long stretch of his milky white throat on display. Eames wanted to kiss and lick his way up and under Arthur’s jaw to suck at the soft skin there, maybe even leave a pink mark. Judging by the way Arthur’s eyes were bright and open, and the dimple that had been visible almost constantly for the past hour, Eames might even get the chance to do so tonight. He didn’t want to push his luck, though, not in this fragile, only just reconstructed peace between them.

»Do you remember much about your father?«, Eames asked hesitantly when the subject came to Arthur’s father and stepfather whom Arthur _really_ seemed uncomfortable with. Eames couldn’t imagine this ‘Rich’ to be anything but a gigantic douchebag.  
Arthur frowned slightly. »Kind of, yeah. Like, I remember his voice and the way he used to talk about things he was very passionate about. I remember his stern face, too, whenever I would get whiney about him being away all the time. I remember all the presents he bought me, to make up for his absence.« Arthur paused, his eyes staring away into space where they were looking at the tablecloth between them. »I remember how strange his villa was. Mom took me with her that one time, after he, um, well, died. To get papers and stuff, right. It felt all wrong, I remember that. There was nothing of me or mom in there. Just. Paintings from some modern artists or whatever on every wall and a lot of booze everywhere. Mom probably put away any drugs before we went in, I reckon, and she didn’t let me see the pool where he … drowned. In his bedroom there were pictures of us, though.« The right corner of Arthur’s mouth curled up slightly, his spaced out look softening a fraction. »On his dresser there were photos of me and mom, one of us together, one of me, and one of their wedding.« Arthur’s mouth dropped again and he blinked, like he remembered something, the smile slowly melting from his face. »The whole room didn’t look like he’d slept there very often, though. The bed was absolutely untouched. Again, could’ve been mom making it before I saw it – I never asked.«  
Eames had his elbows propped on the table, his right hand rubbing the bottom of his whine glass. Arthur’s hand was playing with his napkin and for the second time that evening Eames thought too hard about grabbing Arthur’s hand, effectively talking himself out of it.

»Anyway«, Arthur shrugs and just like that his face is swiped clean of any expression once more. He leans forward slightly, his expression serious now. »You got me talking about my family, _again_ , without yourself ever giving anything up about yourself. This isn’t how this works. I want to know … no, I need to know something. Anything. You gotta give me something to work with here, Eames.«  
Eames’ throat felt dry and he bit the tip of his tongue so hard he tasted blood, in his effort to think of something to say that wouldn’t make him want to lash out. He could do this. It wasn’t like some big trauma or anything. Right? He just hadn’t talked to anyone about it, ever. Changing habits was hard, after all, and not talking about it for so long had only made it harder to open his mouth about it now. That was all it was.  
Eames downed his wine and refilled his glass immediately.

»What … « Eames stopped himself and masked his calming breath as a sigh. »Um. What do you want me to talk about?«  
Arthur’s brow furrowed and he started looking at Eames like _that_ again. Like Eames was some spooked animal Arthur was trying to calm down. »Well. What about your father? You never talk about him.«  
»He’s in England. Not sure where exactly, I never tried to reach out to him after he basically helped my .. my mother to put us away.« Eames felt like the words were being ripped from his throat syllable by syllable and took another swig from his wine. His head was starting to buzz pleasantly.  
»Put you away? You mean, you and your sister? Daisy?«, Arthur clarified, the crease between his eyes deepening by the second.  
»Yeah, well, she couldn’t let us get in the way of her perfect new life, now could she? My father is old money, y’know, so she got money from him for us after they separated. Don’t think there was ever more than physical attraction between them. As far as I know, they sorta despise each other.« Eames could practically hear the bitterness dripping from his words and almost wonders why the table doesn’t dissolve in contact with such acid fluids. »She was studying in England, they hooked up and she got pregnant. That whole thing, you know how it goes. But because he’s like from an ancient rich-arsehole family they married and thought it’d be a great idea to have another child. Me. Unwanted child No 2. Perfect.« He knew his voice was hostile and he could probably burn a hole into Arthur’s forehead if he tried, but he was also pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to go on with this in any other way. He downed the remains of the wine to calm himself down a bit. »Anyway, she ran away or whatever, they divorced and she left Dais and me with granny and gramps.« Their mother was born in the states, but her parents were from England which was how she’d gotten the chance to study there in the first place. She’d never been happy in England, though, always wanted back to her precious States, where she’d grown up. And so she did. Granny and gramps had moved back to England when he retired from his job in the States. They’d always said, although America had become their home, England would forever be their roots.  
»So you lived with them until you were twelve or so?«, Arthur appeared to remember what Eames’d told him before in the few instances Arthur’d managed to coax something out of Eames. When Eames only nodded grimly, Arthur reached out and squeezed his wrist gently. »Let’s get out of here, yeah? You can tell me the rest somewhere less public.«  
It was only then, that Eames realized he’d balled his hand into a fist.

As they were stood at the curb waiting for a cab Arthur spoke up again. »So, ah, where are we going?«  
Eames blinked in confusion, before he realized what Arthur was getting at. »Uhm. Well, where do you want to go? I could walk you home and, like, drop you off or something. Or you could come to mine. If you’d like.«  
Arthur snorted and waved at a cab driving by. »Duh, genius, that’s what I was getting at.« He lifted a warning finger at Eames’ face when he looked over and found Eames waggling his eyebrows while opening the cab-door. »To _talk_. Get your mind out of the gutter, Mr Eames. I want to hear this and you’re going to tell me all about it.«  
Eames’ stomach did a weird drop-flip mixture. The cabbie was wearing a decidedly bemused expression when they got in, he had obviously overheard the last part of their conversation. »Where’re we going?«  
Arthur gave him Eames’ address with an unflinchingly straight face, even though his cheeks were tinted pink.

In the dark of the backseat they fell into silence once again. Eames’ mind was swirling and he had trouble keeping his thoughts in order. Everything was blur of _Arthur’s coming back to my place – how’s he gonna taste? Like wine? – God, fucking fuck, he’s gonna make me talk more, isn’t he? – hell, no – maybe … maybe … – I shouldn’t make such a big deal of it, his father is dead. Mine’s just … a dick – is he gonna stay over or does he plan on leaving later on when he’s heard enough? – shit._  
His eyes fell to the space between them, the passing streetlights throwing shade and bursts of light in quick succession over it. Arthur was looking through the window, his pale face illuminated in a slightly orange light, his eyes staring off with that look Eames knew meant he was lost in his head again. His hand was pale, slender and somehow still elegant on the seat between them, next to Arthur’s thigh. His long fingers were curled loosely, his wrist tilted lazily, thumb slowly rubbing over his index finger while Arthur’s mind was clearly somewhere else.  
This was probably not half as fitting as it would’ve been the previous times the thought had crossed his mind, but Eames didn’t care. He reached out and wormed his fingers into the empty space between Arthur’s, his own fingers broader and darker next to Arthur’s creamy skin. His fingers parted easily, palm granting space immediately as Eames filled out the gaps perfectly. Arthur’s skin was dry and warm and firm, just as Eames remembered, but softer somehow than he’d expected.  
Arthur didn’t turn his head, only tilted it slightly as though he was giving acknowledgement to the fact they were now holding hands. Warmth bled through Arthur’s palm into Eames’ and he let their intertwined fingers rest there in that perfect space between them, as he leaned back and stared through his own window in turn.

Climbing out of the cab forced the hold to break, of course, but Eames still felt warmed even as their hands separated fully. Entering his apartment he immediately went to put on the kettle, listening to the shuffling sounds behind him that told him Arthur was taking off his shoes and making himself comfortable on the sofa. While waiting for the water to heat up Eames toed off his own shoes and flung them towards the pile by the door. Without a look at Arthur he went into his bedroom and pulled off his nice trousers and went back into his sweatpants. He found a fresh t-shirt to replace his button-down with and emerged from the room with probably hopeless hair and back to looking like a bum, but if Arthur was this intent on listening to Eames’ sob story he would have to deal with Eames’ clothing choices.  
Arthur, of course, looked all prim and proper still when Eames re-entered the room. He was sitting on Eames’ sofa without a crease in his shirt, the tie still loosened and seemingly ready for a photoshoot at any time. His dark eyes followed Eames’ every movement and Eames wasn’t sure if he was more aroused or terrified by that intense look. The wine was mulling his mind, so that was presumably part of the problem.  
The water was boiling so Eames made two cuppas and placed them on the coffee table before sitting down next to Arthur on the sofa.  
»So.«

Arthur watched him for another ten seconds with unnerving stillness. He had his hands folded in his lap and one leg tucked beneath the other on the sofa, the ugly light of Eames’ lamp making Arthur’s skin appear even more porcelain-like.  
»You were at your grandparents«, Arthur finally prompted. »You were happy there.« Eames nodded. »Why did you leave?«  
Eames opened his mouth for a snappy reply then thought better of it and closed his mouth, swallowed and took a sip of his boiling hot tea. His throat burned. He pulled a sofa cushion from next to his knee and pulled it into his lap to wrap both his arms loosely around it. »She would sometimes come visit. More alibi visits for her own conscience I think, but still. Sometimes she brought presents. She always wore the same perfume, that’s how I sometimes knew she’d visited when she knew Dais and me would be gone at school or playing outside. I could always smell it, but I’m not sure Dais knew, I never told her about it. It was alright. We had gramps and granny, we didn’t need her.« Eames paused, his tongue simultaneously heavy and loose from the wine filling his belly. »That’s until they died, of course. Being twelve and fourteen kind of forces you to live with an adult who’s responsible for you. First gramps died, then granny got sick and she couldn’t take care of us anymore, had to go to the hospital. She – my mother – had to take us back. She had us fly over to the States the day of granny’s funeral. When we showed up at her house, that was when we learned she’d found herself a new family. A family with another guy and two other children, a girl and a boy. And her new fella, well he didn’t want us there.« Eames remembered that stupid round face, upper lip curled in disgust whenever he looked down the bridge of his pudgy nose and through his spectacles at him or Daisy. And the way his watery blue eyes had lit up when he found the first cheque. »He did like my father’s money, though. She hadn’t told him about the money her parents had been getting from my rich-ass father. He was pretty upset she’d given it to her parents in the first place ‘when she had a family of her own to take care of’. So he kicked us out, put Dais and me in a boarding school, far away from his precious family.«

Eames still remembered that day, that last time he’d cried in front of his mother. Twelve years old, clutching her hand like a life-line, begging her not to leave him in that strange cold place with all those unfamiliar, weird speaking people. She’d tried to pry his hands from her but it was Daisy who’d pulled him away from her in the end. Daisy’s dress had to have been thoroughly ruined after that, his salty tears and snot all over it, but Daisy hadn’t cared. She’d just held him and pulled him away from their mother, who’d wiped her hand on her jeans skirt and dropped his little suitcase on the floor. The boy Eames would have to share his room with for the next years had just sat there on his bed, bored, like he’d seen all this a thousand times. _You be a good boy._ Those were the only words of good-bye she’d ever had for him and they were the same that day, Eames remembered.  
They were also the words that kicked off his path into illegal forging. He was trying so hard _not_ to be a good boy, to have her notice or at least acknowledge his existence. But she never did. »She never showed up at school personally, no matter what trouble I had gotten myself into. Or maybe, if she did, I never saw her.«

Arthur cleared his throat from across him and Eames was suddenly reminded why he was sat here and talking about this. Right. Arthur’d wanted Eames to tell him about his sad excuse for a life. He’d probably skipped a few things just now.  
»Were you … how long were you there?«  
»Boarding school?«, Eames asked and Arthur nodded, something Eames couldn’t define clearly swimming in his eyes. »Dunno. Not long. Until I was fourteen, I think? Her fella broke up with her and she needed my father’s money for herself, so she took us off of boarding school – thank god – and rented us an apartment near one of the public schools here in Chicago. Dais and me got to live on our own, which was awesome, and she only came to visit every few months when the landlady started getting suspicious as to why she never saw an adult with us. That’s when I first realized I could forge her handwriting to get adults to do what I wanted.«  
When he’d seen Daisy again, after more than two years of his all-boys boarding school, he hadn’t cried. Boarding school had toughened the crying out of him. But he’d been shaky for hours, unsure what to say, what to do, and the relief that flooded him when Daisy just wrapped him up in a silent hug that lasted for hours, had left Eames feeling faint and his eyes so dry they’d almost welled up. The first night in their apartment, after their mother had yelled enough at them about being the reason why her perfect dick of a husband had dumped her, his door had creaked open and his first instinct had been to ball his fists, ready for a fight.  
In boarding school that had happened sometimes, some of the older boys picking someone to be the punching bag for the night. Eames’d been chosen thrice during his time there. After the first time he couldn’t walk for a week, but by the second time he’d been ready and they hadn’t picked him again after that. Only when a new boy came, Ty, a few weeks before Eames left, he got chosen again. That older boy had been oddly taken with Eames, playing nice at first but soon shoving him into walls and sneering at him to ‘suck a dick’. That night it had been Ty and two of his friends and Eames had gotten called to the headmaster’s office in the morning for dislodging an arm and breaking a nose. The seriously damaged testicle Eames had gifted Ty with was never spoken of.

But it hadn’t been boarding school anymore that night, and it had been Daisy. Daisy, who’d climbed into Eames’ bed, buried her face in his hair and held him through the whole night. When he’d found salt crusted in his hair the next morning he hadn’t spoken to her about it, but the next night he’d turned around and held her and that was how his heart had healed a bit. Every night a fraction more until it wasn’t falling apart anymore. Because even if he had nothing left, he still had Daisy.

»And that was when you got involved with, ah, those people from a few weeks back?«  
Eames jumped a little at the sound of Arthur’s voice breaking the silence that had cloaked them since he’d stopped speaking a while ago. Arthur was looking at him with those dark, dark eyes, his posture still the same and his expression gave nothing away. The only thing that had changed since Eames started speaking was Arthur’s breathing which had quickened up a bit and there was a tightness around his eyes that looked suspiciously like displeasure.  
Eames on the other hand felt ripped open, like someone had cracked the steel safe that was his core with raw violence and was now looking at his greatest vulnerability without actually making a move to crush, steal, or soothe it, which was the most unnerving part of this whole experience. It took a moment for Eames to find his voice and when he did it felt raw and used, like he’d spent his night screaming his lungs out in a club. »Yeah. Turned out I hadn’t gotten over the whole ‘be a good boy’ thing and was still all about doing the opposite. Wasn’t easy for Dais, I’ll tell ya. I could still kick myself in the head for ever bringing those guys back home. Didn’t really think about how dangerous that might be for my sister, not at fifteen-sixteen I didn’t.«

Arthur was silent again for a while, his forehead pulled into a frown as he thought about Eames’ words. This part was easier now, Eames thought. He’d told Arthur about how he’d gotten involved with Cobol already.  
»Why didn’t you go somewhere else?«, Arthur asked slowly, his voice more steady and less careful now that they’d gotten off the subject of Eames’ mother. »Like, your sister went to NYC, right? Why did you stay here?«  
Eames shrugged and started fiddling with a loose strand from the sofa cushion in his lap. »Didn’t have any money, did I? Dais had made something for herself, gotten jobs and a degree while I was dickin’ about with Cobol and his gang. That’s how she got her job in NYC. The money from our father was no use, of course, since _She_ took it and the payment stopped the minute Daisy was eighteen. When I turned eighteen the money for me also stopped, but by that time I was making enough with Cobol to pay the rent. Other than Cobol I didn’t have any source of money so I had to save some money before I left to be able to afford this shithole and University. Which is, like a _lot_ of money. I didn’t want to spend money on travelling and time was also a factor, since I just wanted out as soon as possible, so I couldn’t change my mind. And that’s how I got here.« Eames did a fake cheer at the end, couldn’t quite keep in the sarcasm but Arthur only nodded.

He hadn’t told Arthur everything, some memories weren’t for anyone to know but himself. All in all, Eames was a bit surprised about how much he had told Arthur. Somehow the talking had gotten easier once he’d started, the wine had also helped, and Arthur’d been a very good listener, not interrupting once and not questioning anything Eames said. The clock showed half past two am and Eames felt positively exhausted now, his tea gone cold on the coffee-table.  
»I … uhm, thank you for telling me all this«, Arthur mumbled awkwardly and blushed when Eames met his eyes. »Like, I know you didn’t want to tell me about any of this in the first place, and I know I kind of bullied you into it, but still. I … I really appreciate it. And I’m sorry for … you know, all of … that.«

**Author's Note:**

> Say hi on tumblr! http://dont-kill-my-darling.tumblr.com/
> 
> Disclaimer: Inception and its characters aren't mine


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